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EARLY VANITIES 



BY 



N, J, CLODFELTER, 




NEW YORK : 

HURST & CO., PUBLISHERS, 

122 NASSAU STEEET. 







^3- 



■<&$<s%$®$» 



DEDICATION, 



To her who gave me being, and made that 
early being the source of my greatest enjoyment, 
and whose tender care and faithful affection sooth- 
ed the little ills of afflicting childhood — to my 
aged Mother — these early poems are affectionately 
inscribed by her son, 

THE AUTHOR, 



"Tgg ijiS * ® * 58^* 



CONTENTS, 






TAGE 


A Closing Scene 


11 


A June Ramble ..... 


108 


Almighty God . . . ... 


• B6 


A Monody . ... 


145 


An Acrostic . ..... 


150 


A Punch at the Bee Gum .... 


18 


At Rest . . . . ... 


138 


Autumn (Scotch) ..... 


. 120 


A Visit to the Rock River — Mary's Home 


. 31 


Birthday Dinner ..... 


. 148 


Dedicating Ode 


68 


Disappointment . . . . 


142 


Early Religious Songs .... 


66 


Epitaph 


248 


Farewell ....... 


133 


Farewell to the Meanest People on Earth 


69 


For a Funeral Occasion .... 


67 


For a Common Place Book . 


61 


For an Album ....... 


65 


Fortunate ....... 


30 


For Willard Fink 


157 


Hail Beautiful Spring 


119 


Hope ....... 


107 


Humphrey's Forest 


45 



6 CONTENTS. 








PAGE 


Iii Memoria 


135 


In Memoria of my Dead Sister 


10 


Inspiration 


124 


Introduction 


161 


Introductory Acrostic Sonnet 


9 


I Stood upon the Little Hill 


79 


Lines on the Death of Our Darling Littk 




Daughter, Alma Nina 


261 


Longfellow ...... 


99 


Lord Byron ...... 


117 


Mary's Mansion ..... 


30 


Mary's Sward ...... 


. 32 


Midday in a Gorge in the Ozard Mountains 


• 110 


Miscellaneous Poems .... 


. 112 


Ode to my Lyre, . .... 


263 


On Being Tormented by Some Boys 


63 


On Hearing a Band Play 


13 


Orphan and Thunderstorm 


. 19 


Our Best Friend 


. 97 


Patience Contrasted ..... 


94 


Purity 


17 


Read at the Fortieth Anniversary of Fathers 




and Mothers Marriage 


82 


Roseland — A Song 


, 


. 114 


Spirits of the Storm, 


. 


267 


Si-ous-Ka, or the Wildflower 




. 185 


Sonnet ..... 




. 116 


Sonnet, A . 




. 259 


Sonnet to Jessica 




. 160 


Sonnet to the Soldiers in Heaven 




. 106 


Sonnet to Vivien 




151 


Storm at Sea .... 


• 


100 



CONTENTS. 


7 




PAGE 


The Belle o' the Town .... 


. 28 


The Buzz o' the Wheel and the Clash o' the 


Loom 


. 92 


The Deserted Home 


. 122 


The Fair Sex 


. 64 


The Fallen Peri 


. 26 


The Fatal Leap 


. 154 


The Fate of the Bride .... 


. 158 


The Fate of the Leaves .... 


. 85 


The Fates ; or the Dance on the Lethe 


. 228 


The Grave of my Myrtle 


25 


The Haunted Chamber .... 


. 140 


The Horrid Reel 


IB 


The Images — Founded on Facts 


14 


The Last Sad Adieu .... 


87 


The Little Grave 


102 


The Old Indian Chiefs Return to the Wabash 


128 


The Pleasures of Home .... 


250 


The Ring— To Mary .... 


34 


The Rural Scotch Home in April 


95 


There are Questions .... 


104 


The same View by Moonlight 


111 


The Three Sons 


71 


The Venomous Bowl ..... 


89 


Threnody . ... 


260 


Time 


131 


To Bennet While in Prison .... 


152 


To a Concert Troupe 


62 


To James Milliken and Teddy Wray 


38 


To Mary in Heaven ..... 


44 


To Mary on Receiving her Picture before I had 




Seen Her ....... 


29 


To Miss Nettie Wyand 


70 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

To My Wife While Away from Home, and 

Despondent 112 

To Prof. J. F. Vaughn 88 

To the One that Can Bes't Understand It . . 35 

To Those Editors, who can Best Understand It 156 

Unlorded Soil — A Fragment 4C 

What is it (E.) 81 

Why is a Conqueror so much Admired ? . 36 

Written by the Death Bed of a Dear Friend . 37 

Written in Mary's Album .... 33 



Early Vanities. 



Introductory Acrostic Sonnet. 

N aught in this volume have I penn'd for praise. 

r condemnation, and I shall disclaim 

A 11 early expectations of a name; 

H owever, pleasant hours in early days 

C ame to me as I wrote these simple lays. 

L ost in the labyrinthine bowers, or shame 

f poesy, it matters not — there came 

D espondency to greet me, and the plays, 

F or sporting childhood, had no charm for me; 

E nough to know, then, why I wrote to kill 

L ong time that drags me on against my will, 

T o the dark brink of vast eternity, 

E ncompass'd by oblivion's silence, still 

R etiring in the vale of Lethe's hill. 



10 early vanities. 

In Memoria of My Dead Sister* 

SEE the leaves in beauty beaming, 
Pouring fragrance through t*he air, 
When a breeze comes gently blowing, 
How they cling and tremble there. 

What sad thoughts rush swift upon me, 
When I see them fade away, 

And the little twig that bears them, 
Lets them fall, soon to decay. 

Like the leaves, my darling sister, 

In the autumn of the year, 
Sank to earth in silent slumber, 

Never more to greet us here. 

Oh ! her absence leaves us lonely, 
Oh ! what constant loss we feel, 

Is it God who thus bereaves us ; 
Can our God such sorrows heal ? 

Dear dead sister, still we love you, 

With a love for you alone, 
We believe you safe in heaven, 

With the angels round the throne. 

Oh ! her place is left so vacant, 

Never can be fill'd again, 
By a dearer, purer sister, 

Here within this wide domain. 

For the leaves there comes a spring-time, 
For the darkness comes a dawn, 

For the dead comes voice of trumpet, 
And the sleep of death is gone. 

* The earliest preserved poem of the author.— Oct. 24, 1864. 



EARLY VANITIES. 11 

A Closing Scene. 



THE village sexton tolls a solemn knell, 
As o'er the bier the snow-white robe is spread, 
The dull vibrations of that passing bell, 
Are tones of pity for the youthful dead. 

Six manly forms convey the corse along 

The narrow path, between the turfy mounds 

That hide from vision, of this mournful throng, 
The pallid dwellers of these sacred grounds. 

They rest the bier beside a fresh cut grave, 
And tender hands remove the coffin lid, 

And grant the broken-hearted what they crave, 
A long last look at her the casket hid. 

While grief grows wild the vault receives its guest, 
Sharp contrast with the giddy scenes of mirth, 

Pale rigid forms, thus laid to such a rest, 
Inanimate, consigned to mother earth. 

The sober sextons seize the burnish'd steel, 

The grumbling clods roll down on precious clay, 

Wild grief again bursts forth, and makes us feel 
The threads that snap on such a parting day. 

If all the faces that lie sleeping here 

Were at one scene presented to our view, 

Our friends and foes would, all alike, grow dear, 
And tainted lives would vanish as the dew. 



12 EAItLY VANITIES. 

Death does not wait for age our face to plow, 
As marbl'd slabs stand pointing here to show; 

The babe, the youth, the old are sleeping now, 
Wrapp'd in the robe of silence just below. 

The arbiter of time has numbered well 
Man's days of pilgrimage upon this earth, 

And each vibration of that village bell 
Gives some incentive to substantial worth. 

Oh ! erring man, gaze on this sodded mound, 

It is a book inscribed upon by God, 
To teach that you shall sleep beneath the ground, 

With naught for pillow but a sallow clod. 

The ambrosial flower that waveth to and fro, 
With precious buds bedeck'd with silv'ry dew, 

Is but an emblem of the ones below, 

That nourish it, and give it that deep hue. 

Within each grave fond recollections rest, 

Green to some heart, and fresh to memory dear, 

Of one that's by its heap of earth caress'd, 
Oft moisten'd by affection's sacred tear. 

Here silence reigns supreme; this sacred spot, 
Where men lie buried with their hidden fame, 

Soon by the world unknown, and friends forgot, 
* At last the slab will sink that bears their name. 



* This poem was first published in one of the Indiana papers. 
A certain man, under the pseudonym of ' ' Silent Partner, " 
attempted to criticise it, being angry at the author, who he 



H 



early vanities. 13 

On Hearing a Band Play. 

ARK ! I hear a merry strain, 
Waft its way on Zephyr's tide, 

And the gentle notes proclaim, 
Melodies on every side. 

Listen, to the E Flat blower, 

And the trombone's deeper sound, 

As old tuba's deafening roar, 

Blends with echoes that rebound. 

Hear the gentle forest ringing, 
And the birds while flitting by, 

Pour forth notes of cheerful singing, 
Fit to banish every sigh. 

Nearer, louder, sweeter gambols, 
All the strains from friends so dear, 

As the forests' bushy brambles, 
Throw the echoes to my ear. 

July, 1865. 

had wilfully and maliciously lied on. 

' ' The dull vibrations of that passing bell, 
Are tones of pity of the youthful dead." 

"Who ever heard of tones of pity coming from the dead " — 
one of his criticisms. 

Below is a portion of the reply to his criticism. 

* Such fiendish lies unnoticed cannot pass, 
E'en tho' invented by a shallow " ass " 
And as we read we can but think in shape, 
His head's much like the South American ape; 



14 early vanities. 

The Images— Founded on Facts. 

I SAW an image dressed in white, 
Thro' the darkness of the night, 
Leaning on a cottage gate, 
In what seemed expectant state ; 
Suddenly I heard a tread, 
And the image turned her head, 

I do disdain to fight the grinning monkeys, 

E'en tho' they're aided by the long-eared donkeys, 

Fools always think in prose they're very strong, 

And henceforth plod their clumsy pen along, 

But if not too far gone in lunacy, 

He may learn yet that Jacks too often bray; 

I trust he may have left a little mind, 

To behold himself a libel on mankind, 

And that the pen he uses in its place 

Serves every time to pen his own disgrace, 

And lines address'd to me but pass on by, 

For all conceive he is the hero of the lie. 

Nature taught me ever to despise 

The lying fool that slinks beneath mine eyes, 

Yet what known critic ever can excel, 

The one that takes a dead man for a bell, 

Who never heard before of sallow clay, 

But " yaller " is the critic's preferr'd way. 

Oh ! that Old Zell had employed him to o'erlook, 

And criticise his large and wasted book. 

For soon 'twill perish with the author's name 

Crowded out by " Silent Partner's " fame. 

Changed orthography and meanings too, 

When once purloined by his close review; 

Oh ! Webster, Webster ! soon your day is past, 

Impossible for you to ever last. 

You cannot bear inspection by so great 

A genius— so prepare to meet your fate. 



EARLY VANITIES. 15 

Then, while peering thro' the night, 

I thought I saw a lordly wight, 

Place his vision of an arm, 

Around the visionary charm; 

And each time their faces meet, 

The magic touch seems incomplete, 

And so they try it o'er and o'er, 

Until their very lips are sore, 

From a fevered lovesickness, 

By such lingering caress ; 

And yet, for hours they lingered there, 

This imaginary pair — 

I in ambush still did wait, 

And watched them reach above the gate, 

And heard their broken lovesick wails, 

O'er the little cottage pales ; — 

'Twas a bold act, but with fear, 

To see them closer I drew near, 

Seldom see we sight like this, 

Phantom lovers stand and kiss ; — 

Cautiously did I advance, 

To obtain a nearer glance; 

'Twas as the enchanter's wand, 

When she raised her soft white hand, 

And the other child — of air, — 

Gently took those fingers fair, 

And press'd them just as mortal would, 

Then like doves they billed and coo'd. 

Fair Erato had been ashamed, 

And Venus would have felt misnamed, 

Had they been there that silvery night, 

And witness'd such a tender sight, 

But suddenly some passing boys, 

Naughty urchins — full of noise, 



16 EARLY VANITIES. 

Came upon a stroll that way, 
And scared the mystic pair away, 
Whither no one knows — I ween 
They, there, were never after seen. 

1866. 



The Horrid Reel* 

ALL day I turn this horrid reel, 
Till fatigue creeps thro' limbs and back, 
And at each revolution feel, 

I'm nearer to the final " crack," 
I hear it in my worried mind, 

It stealeth thro' my brains to rack, 
And every stroll I take I find, 

In everything the same old crack ; 
Thirty times, and two around 

The reel must go before it slack, 
And then you have a full cut wound, 
Then whack she goes, crack, crack; 
When e'er I'm resting from this noise, 

With horse-whip in my hand to smack, 
Or strolling out with other boys 

All sounds blend to that same old crack; 
The birds crack, the boughs crack, 
The ducks crack, and squack, 

* When I was quite young, my mother frequently prepared 
yarn for the loom, from rolls that she manufactured into 
threads preparatory to weaving. I had to reel the yarn, which 
was done on a wooden reel, with six arms, and 32 turns around, 
made a cut, and when that many revolutions were made, it 
appraised you of the fact by a — crack. — 



EARLY VANITIES. 17 

And everything is drunk that sounds, 
And' makes its circuit thirty rounds, 
And two, and then they all fall back, 
And crack, crack, crack, crack. 

Dec. 1864 : 



Purity. 



w 



HERE is the maid so chaste and pure, 
That virtue firmly blends with grace, 
And honor binds herself secure, 
Above a ruined, fallen race ? 



'Tis not — oh, no, — the vain coquette, 
Whose roguish eye is steeped with woe, 

And sober mien a woven net, 
To catch some triste or silly beau. 

'Tis not the flirt who steals your heart, 
And in return gives hers forever, 

Then steals it back by cunning art, 
And leaves you love's strong cords to sever. 

'Tis not the one whose painted cheeks, 
Are powdered up and crimsoned red, 

Who primps her mouth up when she speaks, 
Till words seem fast within her head. 

'Tis not the handsome giddy jilt, 

That by superior charm allures 
Whose very conscience aches with guilt, 

And guilt itself her soul insures. 



18 EARLY VANITIES. 

'Tis not the quaint loquacious maid, 

Whose flattering tongue inclines to move, 

In language that true hearts evade, 
And virtue never can approve. 

It is the maid whose potent mind, 
Stands zealously at virtue's test, 

Whose inmost being is refined, 
And purity her soul's bequest. 

Alamo, Dec. 14, 1867. Am 16 years old to-day. 



A Punch at the Bee Gum. 

COME let us punch that old bee gum, 
And hear the stingers in it hum ; 
Here goes, one punch, and two and three, 
" Whillakins! w they light on me, 
Come take them off! come take them off! 
Don't stand there, fool, and snort and cough, 
But take your hat and fight the bee, 
Before he sticks his sting in me. 
Whack! he takes me o'er the eye! 
Come fight him you "damphool" there by 
Now don't stand off and grin to see 
Me stung to death by a honey bee. 

1864. 



early vanities. 19 

Orphan and Thunderstorm * 



SAT one evening lonely, 

In the school house near the door, 
And I watched the pattering rain fall, 
And the river lash the shore. 

The heavenly scenes were dismal, 
And the angry river roared, 

While the clouds all seemed to loosen, 
And the rain in torrents poured. 

The night came closing o'er me, 
And the heavens darker grew, 

All the earth seemed to be drowning, 
And the river shoreless too. 

Then, louder roars the thunder, 
And the vivid lightenings flash, 

And the heavens illuminated 
By their fork'd and angry dash. 



* This little poem is grounded upon facts related to me by 
my Grandfather Sayler, about the year 1860. In the Old 
World a school-mate of his by the name of Jones, was left 
parentless, and being of a very sympathetic temperament and 
nervous as well, the storm described in these verses so excited 
him that on seeing an old castle across the river torn to frag- 
ments, he left his place in the school-room, and had only gone 
a few paces from it, when it shared a similar fate from the 
elements. Thus his life seems to have been miraculously 
saved. 



20 EARLY VANITIES. 

And while I sat there gazing 

Through the flashes of the night, 

A quick boom and flash of brilliance, 
Came and went, and dimmed my sight. 

And I gazed through vivid lightnings.— 
How my heart did ache to see, 

The old castle torn to fragments, 
That so long was dear to me, 

Still I sat there, lonely, listening 
To the solemn distant thunder, 

When another blast of lightning, 
Rent that dear old home asunder. 

Then I feared that in the madness, 
Of the lightning's furious pranks, 

I'd be killed within the school-house, 
And burnt among the planks. 

And as I sat there thinking 
Whither I should now repair, 

A soft voice seemed to whisper, 
" Do not trust to fate in there! " 

Than I started out for refuge, — 

To some place, I knew not where, — 

When the school-house, like a feather, 
Bravely rode off on the air. 

While the rain fell fast around me, 
And through floods I had to roam, 

Naught but heavenly lights to guide me 
To any place but home. 



EARLY VANITIES. 21 

On through the storm I wandered, 
While unbridled lightnings swept, 

As the thunder rolled around me, 
While my lonely course I kept. 

No one save God to love me, 

Or to guide my feeble form, 
But a voice seemed to whisper, 

" Thou shalt surely stand the storm." 

A petition then I uttered, 

To the God that reigns above, 
Fervent as my heart could fashion, 

Full of reverence and love. 

Oh God! I cried, (and not in vain), 

Behold an orphan child, 
Take him to thy protective care, 

From this cold blast so wild. 

Then I cast my eyes to heaven, 
And the clouds appeared no more, 

Yet, the river's white caps rolled, 
And the rain had ceased to pour. 

A gentle calm spread o'er me, 

As I on my journey walk'd, 
Now and then a jar from heaven, 

As the distant thunder talk'd. 

Fainter, fainter grew their voices, 

Till in distance died away, 
And a calm was spread before me, 

Where the forests' monarchs lay. 



22 EARLY VANITIES. 

Then I gazed across the river, 
High above its angry lashes, 

To behold the old church steeple ; 
But alas! it lay in ashes. 

The fact then burst upon me, 
I was in the world alone, 

Without a church to worship in, 
A school-house, or a home. 

What must I do, and whither go ! 

To God I thus did pray ; 
Send angels down to pilot me, 

Or bear my soul away. 

And then I thought the God above, 
Had thus far favored me, 

I'll not give up, I'll bear my lot, 
But from these scenes I'll flee. 

Perhaps I may some future time, 
The sympathies receive, 

Of some responsive heart I'll meet, 
And some good end achieve. 

Why should I stay in torture here! 

It's true I have some friends, 
But many who appear as such, 

Prove only to be fiends. 

Before I go I must repair, 

"Where my heart's love doth stay, 

To the old grave-yard that received 
My parents' precious clay. 



EARLY VANITIES. 23 

I'll plant a tree between their graves, 

A healthy thriving one, 
And as it grows, or as it dies, 

It's fated as their son. 

Oh ! mother, mother, here I stand 

Beside thy hallowed grave, 
To plant this little evergreen, 

That in my name may wave. 

Yes, father, thou wert dear to me, 

But I must leave you here. 
This plant may stand, yea, it may grow, 

It's nourished with a tear. 

Dear parents it is hard for me 

To leave you here alone — 
My dearest friends, your loving child 

Is left without a home. 

Loved parents I will leave you now, 

Sleep on thy sacred sleep, 
I'll hie me to some foreign land 

And there for you will weep. 

With this, I humbly bowed myself, 

Upon the grassy sod 
That covered up the clay-cold forms, 

And kindly pray'd to God. 

Feb. 18, 1866. 



24 EARLY VANITIES. 

THE SAME. 

But now I stand far o'er the main, 

Beyond the rolling tide, 
Where white caps shed their silvery sheen 

From Ocean's side to side. 

The English shore is ever bright, 

And shall yet so remain 
'Till God diverts my soul from me, 

And I meet my friends again. 

Oh ! what fond pleasure waits me there, 

In that sweet land of bliss, 
Where parents dear will welcome me 

From a world of pain like this. 

Feb. 22, 1866. 



EARLY VANITIES. 25 



The Grave of my Myrtle. 

MY Myrtle, here I plant o'er thee, 
A rose of blooming grace, 
That you admired when here with me 

As garlands trimmed in lace — 
Oh ! Myrtle, angel high above, 

Your spirit now has fled, 
And left your Hubert here to love 
The spirit of the dead. 



I want to love none else but you — 

Dear Myrtle love hast tied, 
My heart to you O, yes so true 

Since you became my bride — 
But then the God did snatch my charm, 

My idol oh ! my dear, 
From this vain world of pain and storm 

And left her Hubert here. 



But by and by, I'll quickly hie 

To my dear Myrtle's home, 
And therewith angel- wings we'll fly 

Around the golden throne, 
Oh ! then the bliss, where angels kiss 

Up in that heaven above — 
Who would not leave such world as this 

To join with them we love ? 



26 early vanities. 

The Fallen Peri * 







NE night around my couch there came, 
Sontfe seeming vision's form, — 

A Peri we will call its name, — 
Came wandering and forlorn. 

Its ruby lips and graceful speech, 

Lisped softly in my ear, 
" Remember now I do beseech, 

The words I leave you here. 

" Way off in the immortal space, 
Where Seraphs dwell together, 

I was discarded from that place, 
For time, but not forever. 

" I was unruly so they say, 
Condemned and banished here, 

That you may know where angels stay, 
That good alone is there. 



* About the year 1867, where I was going to school, there 
were some children whose parents were spiritualists going to 
the same school. One of them related to me a circumstance 
that he said occured at their house. He said: "Some angel- 
like form came into my bed-chamber and placed its icy hands 
upon my face and cut many kind of capers, when suddenly it 
vanished away and left me to revel over the matter. " He 
further said that he believed the good angels had banished it 
from their domain. 



EARLY VANITIES. 27 

" And now my icy hand I'll place 

Upon your moistened head, 
And chill you with an angel's grace, 

For the vain life you've led. 

" Oh! do not fear I ask of you, 

For angels sent me here, 
That I might some good for you do, 

And crown you when you're there. 

" Believe me, if you can, I say, 

I'll call some other season, 
When night alone bedims the day, 

And to you then I'll reason. 

" You may think strange of such a call, 

Within your door at night, 
Some future time I'll tell you all, 

And lead you in the light." 

I never saw a child so fair, 

Here on this globe of earth, 
As this dear one, this child of air, 

From heaven just sent forth. 



Dec. 1867. 






28 EARLY VANITIES. 

WELL FOUNDED. 

The Belle o'the Town. 

OH! the Belle of the town I will be to-day, ma, 
When clad in my tissues and tarlatan laces, 
Oh! won't I look handsome and won't I feel gay, ma> 
When all the bystandsrs are admiring my graces. 

Oh! the Belle of the town I will be to-day, ma, 
When all the gay clerks will cast pearls at me, 

I'll receive them with scorn, and I'll taunt them away, 
ma, 
When they cleverly ask to go walking with me. 

Oh! the Belle of the town I will be to-day, ma, 
And Lemie will soothingly come to my side, 

Oh! what must I tell him, O, what shall I say, ma, 
When he wooingly asks me to be his own bride. 

Oh! the Belle of the town I will be to-day, ma, 

That Lemie and I are united as one, 
Both graceful and elegant you will then say, ma, 

Of Lemie and me — your daughter and son. 

Oh! the Belle of the town I won't be to-day, ma, 
If Lemie come in and you answer him no, 

You'll ruin your daughter and drive her away, ma, 
If Lemie and I, both as one cannot go. 

Then if the Belle of the town you want me to be, ma, 
Say " Lemie take Mollie and bless her my son," 

Then happiness, comfort, and peace I will see, ma, 
For the girls will all envv the husband I've won. 

1864. 



EARLY VANITIES. 29 

To Mary, on Receiving her Picture Before 
I Had Seen Her. 







H! if this picture's true in art, 

And thou art chaste and pure, 
I'll die without you near my heart, 

Or have you mine secure. 

Whene'er I gaze on thy fair face, 

Oh! could that love I sever, 
My mind could not such thoughts embrace,- 

No, Never, Never, Never. 

Our hearts then twins most surely be, 

That time cannot dissever, 
But still they'll beat in sympathy, 

Forever and Forever. 



THE SAME. 

Thy seated image in my breast, 
The only one that I adore, 

Disturbs my all-reposing rest, 
Because I cannot love thee more. 

Oct. 26, 1868. 



30 EARLY VANITIES. 



Mary's Mansion. 



THE half blown flowers, 
Entangled in bowers, 
Are sprouting from vases of silvery sheen, 
And all of the walls, 
Thro' Mary's bright halls, 
Are decked with more beauty than any I've seem 






Fortunate. 



HAPPY, happy elf, 
When he has the pelf, 
To bestow (upon himself.) 







EARLY VANITIES. 31 

A Visit To Rock River —Mary's Home, 

H! river that rollest forever along, 
Where dwells the one that I adore? 

Sing on, sing on, that doleful song, 
You sang to me in days of yore. 

Yes, she is gone — thy tune doth tell, 

The song that blended with thy sweet wave, 

No longer is heard in this lone deep dell, 

But lies silent with her in the damp cold grave. 

Thy silvery waters are a mirror to me, 
Whenever I tread on thy sad lone shore, 

Reflecting an image so dear from thee, 
An image my heart will ever adore. 



Can it be, can it be so ? 

Or has a dream impressed like this ? 
My gentle maid is she laid low ? 

And her spirit encompassed in heavenly bliss? 

True, true, too true, that voice is hushed, 

In death's sad cold embrace, 
That marbled beauty once is flushed 

With heaven's mantled grace. 

Once my joy but now my gloom, 

To thread thy emerald shore, 
Her loss is but my sorrowed doom, 

And shall be ever more. 



32 EARLY VANITIES. 

THE SAME. 

Mary's Sward * 

THE Zephyrs are wafting their fragrant perfumes, 
From crocus, and jasmine, and sweet clover 
blooms, 
The threshold and sward, are both tinged with a dye, 
Of nature's own painting, beneath the bright sky, 
The sprays in the copse, with embellishing hues, 
Bedazzle the lawn, that is beaded with dews, 
And the ivy and lily, that grow among reeds, 
Reflect back their blush, to the daffodil meads, 
While triandrous flowers on their trembling stems, 
O'er spread the rich cyme with their beautiful gems, 
All earth seems aglow with aggregate flowers, 
As they mingle together, and twine into bowers, 
And the Thyrsus bedecked with the verdant grape 

vines, 
For old Bacchus to make his intoxicate wines, 
As the Corymb in beauty stands up to adorn, 
The nice verdant sward on a silvery morn, 
Its embryos tinged with the heavenly dye, 
And watercups filled for the crystalline eye ; 
And just down below in green osiers I see, 
The mocking bird singing for Mary and me, 

* It may be truly said of this place that it was a ' ' Cash- 
merian vale. " The sward named here spread out over about 
twenty acres, and this was decorated with shade trees, and 
grottos of flowers planted by the hand of nature. It was a 
regular paradise in mid-summer for pleasure seekers during 
the years from 1860 to perhaps 1868, after which the owner, 
Mary's father, turned it into a farming field. 



EARLY VANITIES. 33 

And the humming birds take from the crusiate leaf, 

The sweets as they dart from the spray to the reef; 

And not far away in the crystogam rushes, 

And ferns, and brakes, are the cuckoos and thrushes, 

They bring fond emotions of Mary to me, 

When athwart the green sward they flit to the lea, 

And on the pale jasmine I see them once more, 

Piping forth warbles she was won't to adore ; — 

But notes of the forest sound- harsh to my ear, 

When with them my Mary's sweet voice I hear. 

1868. 



W 



Written in Mary's Album. 

HEN I'm detached far, far from thee, 

Oh ! scan this simple page, 
And drop one sober thought for me, 

That tears cannot assuage. 

Tho' leagues and fathoms intervene, 

As time rolls on before me, 
Fond thoughts of thee will glow between, 

Whatever sky is o'er me. 

Then drop one tear, this boon I ask, 
For me, your friend and lover, 

And oh ! to me an easy task, 
To think of thee for ever. 



1868. 



34 early vanities. 

The Ring— To Mary. 



OH ! here is the ring, 
I promised to bring, 
Now please do not act the coquette 
But take it and wear, 
Oh that finger so fair, 
This ring with the emerald set. 

My heart is enshrined, 

And my love is entwined, 
Around thee my dearest brunettt, 

'Tis you I adore, 

Your love I implore, 
Because thou art not a coquette. 

I cannot believe 

That you would deceive, 

Or try once to be a coquette, 
This ring you'll then keep, 
And may you ne'er weep, 

Because of a little regret. 

Oh! who would not sigh, 

If he could not rely, 
On the word of his darling and pet* 

And then with true pride, 

Begin to deride, 
The treachery of the coquette. 

1868. 



EARLY VANITIES. 35 



To the One that can Best Understand It. 



THIS ring, fair maid, I gave to you, 
My heart enshrined within it too, 
But now that envy is to sever, 
The hearts that were to 'beat forever, 
Iu unison ; and so fair one, 
Our courting is forever done, 
But then in bidding thee good bye, 
A transient tear bedims my eye, 
That ardent love, now burns my heart, 
And pierces it like Cupid's dart, 
That once did glow for only thee, 
But now alas we're doomed to be, 
Dissevered, Nannie ; true, too true, 
Adieu, adieu, a long adieu. 



%%% 



36 EARLY VANITIES. 



Why is a Coquette so much Admired? 







H ! what a question 'tis you ask ! 
Responding were an easy task 

To such interrogation; 
It is because she steps with grace. 
And puts the paint upon her face 

And flirts for admiration. 



When courting half a dozen beaux, 
They all to her in time propose, 

And she accepts their offers. 
The marriage day to each is named, 
And each one thinks he has her tamed, 

To scorn the theme of scoffers. 

They boast of having won their prize, 
Believing in her flimsy lies 

To be more truth than fiction — 
Her smiles while walking on the street 
Would be their joy, and heaven complete, 

Each nod seal love's conviction. 

She gives their hands a gentle squeeze, 
Their silly passions just to tease, 

To gain their love sincerer — 
When time rolls on to gain their prize, 
They wander out in starch disguise, 

To find her growing dearer. 



EARLY VANITIES. 37 

But oh ! alas ! she cares not once, 
And only laugh at each vain dunce, 

To see him love her so. 
She'll taunt him with the sneer of fool, 
And ask him if he likes the rule 

That coquettes only know. 



o 



Written by the Death-bed of a 
Dear Friend. 

H ! vernal winds do cease your sighing, 
Thro' that lonely grove of pine, 

For I feel the death shafts flying, 
To this throbbing heart of mine. 

Welcome death, oh! fast you meet me, 
Take me in thy fond embrace, 

When thy sweet repose shall greet me, 
Heaven's sphere will be my place. 

When I'm gone, oh! plant some flowers, 
O'er my grave and let them grow, 

That they may weave themselves in bowers, 
O'er the clay that '11 sleep below. 



When you gaze on these bright flowers, 
You will see me, in seeing them 

Changed, I'll be by heaven's powers, 
From flesh into a flowret gem. 

18CC. 



38 EARLY VANITIES. 



TO JAMES MULLIKIN AND TEDDY WRAY. 



1 



HY, Jimmie, complain 

Of Teddy's disdain, 
You need not thus frown in dismay, 

You surely will get 

Your dear little pet, 
Your sweet little darling, Miss Wray. 

'Tis true you did go, 
When love ceased to glow 

With another fair damsel one day, 

Your words would not shield, 
But quickly revealed, 

That you iWed no one else but Miss Wray. 

Tnen fervent your heart 
Told you quick to depart, 

And not give up yet in dismay. 

Then the love you did sever, 
Was linked close forever 

To your darling, your dear Teddy Wray. 

The heavens can't cease, 
To shed tranquil peace 

On a life that's so happy and gay, — 
And long will remain 
The love binding chain, 

That fastens your heart to Miss Wray. 



EARLY VANITIES. 39 

Then love like a river 

Will roll on forever, 
When that black head of yours has turned gray, 

You can only look back 

On life's famous track, 
And rejoice when you claimed Teddy Wray. 

Oh! could you then sing 

Of love's piercing sting, 
And blend with the beautiful lays, 

That once pierced your heart 

Like Cupid's keen dart, 
When boarding just at Widow Wray's. 

But, Jimmie, beware 

For love is in air, 
Contagious and scatters away, 

Like malaria it goes 

With its joys and its woes, 
And thus it caught you and Miss Wray. 

Your time will soon come 

And you will be won, 
Now listen to just what I say, 

And boarding will go 

Right pleasant you know, 
Just as it does with your Miss Wray. 



^m%^ 



40 EARLY VANITIES. 



UNLORDED SOIL.-A FRAGMENT. 

PART FIRST* 

AWAY with all your tampering stings, 
You miser breed — you money kings 
Leave us to tread unlorded soil, 
And reap the fruits of honest toil : — 
We view you with ungodly ire, 
Because you are a money sire, 
Grasping all the honest treasure, 
That the poor and godly measure — 
We do detest your sinful way, 
In getting more than twice your pay, 
For all the talents you possess, 
Are envy, pride, and wickedness ; — 
All we ask is honest means, 
In devising all your schemes, 
And if by chance you then do climb, 
We'll say you have improved the time: — 
I ask you to divert your sway, 
The petty schemes you do portray, 
Because you have oppressed to earth, 
Men of pure hearts and honest birth, — 
Then let, I say, your lordship free, 

* This fragment was prompted by the large plantation and 
slave owners in the South. It was commenced indeed before 
I had reached my ' ' teens " but it is useless to give unnecessary 
information, as the feeble "cant "will remind the reader of 
that fact. 

The reason this has not reached the waste basket is, that it 
was written when in my 12th year, which I am able to prove. 



EARLY VANITIES. 41 

Unloose the chain that's binding me, 
For men that hath inferior wealth, 
Must condescend to your vile stealth: 
Here in this Land where Freedom wanes, 
And Lord, and God, supremely reigns;— 
Can we proclaim America's free! 
When bound down in such tyranny ? 
American braves, why did you war, 
To free yourself from kingly power ? 
I ask in name of God above, 
Was not the war for freedom's love ? 
Why then should we thus stand oppressed, 
By men who fortunes have possessed ? 
You who have bled in honest toil, 
To tread the earth as freemen's soil, 
Whose bones lie bleaching with the dust, 
Achieved an end of wickedness : — 
America was never free 
For naught but lords, not you and me :— 
And still to-day she stands here ruled, 
By lords and gods that are unschooled, 
Would not a king, or queen by birth, 
Rule better here upon this earth 
Than politicians — little men, 
That rule the land by stratagem ? 
On fair Columbia's happy shore, 
We see her sons in bloody gore 
Intrenched beneath the battle field, 
Where glittering sabres brave men weild— 
Fathers, sons, and brothers too, 
Stand face to face, and murder do, 
Yet she is called the gem of Nations, 
Within the bounds of God's creations. 



42 EARLY VANITIES. 

Oh ! hush the cry of freedom's bliss, 

When born in such a world as this; 

God has ordained that men be free, 

And not sink down in misery, 

E'en tho' we sink in meagreness, 

Bereft, and left, all moneyless, 

God made men free, bade them do well, 

Yet men drag other men to hell, 

But when the tortured's crowned with grace, 

The lord and king will lose this place — 

For he will reap as high reward, 

In heaven, as our old king and lord; 

Thank God, I do, with all my might, 

For such an act of equal right. 

You thieves and lords at once unbind, 

The cords you've around the poor entwined, 

And give them right to look and see, 

The road that leads to liberty, 

We would not ask so much of you, 

If we were not created too, 

By the same great power that created you, 

We can feel oppression's great, 

When bound in a tyrannic state, 

God gave us life and strength to know, 

When lords and Gods oppress us so, 

He made us all I know quite well, 

Not to be ruled by men that dwell 

Upon this earth like the dumb brute : — 

The miscreants to persecute— 

God brought all men upon this earth, 

From the same blood, and gave them birth, 

That they might always brothers be, 

Forever, to eternity. 



EARLY VANITIES. 43 

Oh ! then, I pray, assume no more, 
You lords and gods I do implore, 
That sons of God must take His power, 
And brother take their brother's dower ; 
Oh! man, depraved and full of sin, 
How can you such a life begin, 
A brother takes his brother's life 
From neither malice, hate or strife, 
But to achieve a lordship's fame, 
From such an act — inhuman shame ! 



PART SECOND. 

And the poor slave, above whose wild untu- 
tored mind, 
Can ne'er see freedom from a lord unkind, 
His mind is tortured and he heaves and groans, 
Beneath his master's vile commanding tones, 
Yet, he must not e'en cry in self-defence, 
Or forty stripes will be his recompense, 
Lo! he retires to his lone couch at night 
Tired from the labor for his cruel wight, 
And thus he goes bound down in tyranny, 
Unknown to hearts that nourish sympathy, 
The God above will soon proclaim him free, 
And foil the hand of grasping tyranny, 
He'll crown him with encircling folds of grace, 
And bring the lord beneath his heavenly place. 



44 EARLY VANITIES. 

TO MARY IN HEAVEN: 



"Thou lingering star with lessening ray 
That lov'st to greet the early morn, 

Again thou usherest in the day, 

My Mary from my soul was torn." — Burns. 

THO' the star of my hope has departed, 
And life is a shadowy plane, 
Still I'm left in this world broken hearted, 

To never feel pleasure again ; 
Oh! Mary, thy death has encumbered, 

The heart that beat only for thee, 
And the days are all golden and number'd, 
When thou lived'st, Mary, for me. 

Ye, Angels of mercy in heaven, 

Look down from the portals above, 
And behold how the bosom is riven, 

That beat its young throbs of first love, 
Oh! Mary, departed, but never 

Forgotten by soul-stricken me, 
For the stars up in heaven will ever 

Remind me, sweet Mary, of thee. 

Tho' the love of my destiny's ended, 
And 'twere not for memory's decree, 

My spirit would soon have ascended 
In lasting communion with thee; 

* To Lloyd Fink, Esq:— My Dear Friend— I take pleasure 
in dedicating to you my lines " To Mary in Heaven " for rea- 
sons best known to yourself. 

The Authob. 



EARLY VANITIES. 45 

But whenever I walk out at even, 
The cadence of Mary's sweet voice, 

Steals down from the vistas of heaven, 
And bids my heart wake and rejoice. 

But, alas ! when the night lamps hang lowly, 

And beneath their pale shining I roam, 
When I gaze t'ward the sphere of the Holy, 

Methinks I see Mary's bright home, 
Then I wish from the heavenly blue sea 

The robed ones would throw down a chain, 
That Mary once more might come to me, 

And rest on my bosom again. 

Dec. 1869. 



HUMPHREY'S FOREST. 

Respectfully inscribed to my brother, A. N. Clodfelter, 
whose name I wish associated with mine 'till both are forgotten. 

PART FIRST. 

OH ! brother loved, thy name's forever dear, 
It is inscribed in living letters here, 
How oft I've marked this dear old pensive tree, 
That bears the name so plainly here of thee ; 
Could smiles avert the tears from off my face, 
Whene'er I tread upon this sacred place, 
And read that name forever dear to me, 
Thy own initials, brother, A. N. C* 

* Initials of my brother, A. N. Clodfelter, who died of con- 
sumption in his 24th year, January 7, 1879. 



46 EARLY VANITIES. 

Time's sweetest wing has sped forever on, 

And left our records blank and quite unknown, 

Gaze back upon the idle hours enjoyed, 

And see how well they might have been employed, 

But then the days of youth are not for fame, 

But merely to applaud the merry game; 

Blessed be the day when science first does gain, 

And crush bad thoughts from out thy youthful brain. 

When mediocre's jests will only tease 

The once lost minds they did so truly please — 

But vernal winds that shake the verdant leaf, 

You thrill me with that lone and solemn grief, 

That time has wrought and clasped so firm on me, 

Since we did jest beneath this old beach tree. 

But, oh! to me, how changed and how sublime, 

Is such a change that teaches me to rhyme, 

And you to dive in murky depths to find, 

What seems beyond the comprehensive mind, 

But wide you spread that grasping talent round, 

And center'd it with energy profound; 

Upon the tangled puzzles, that do tease — 

And only serve such minds as yours to please; 

The saffron leaves that fall from fragile stems, 

Are fairer to me than the golden gems 

Of costly bawbles, decked in all the art, 

That man's inventive genius can impart. 

The trees adorn'd with nature's dusky robe, 

Form but a paradise here on this globe, 

To me, when they inhale the balmy wails 

Through the dull forest of alternate flails 

Which makes them bow majestically and creak, 

And, in a voice familiar to me, speak 

Of past events, melodious to my ear, 



EARLY VANITIES. 47 

That transpired in these sober regions here. 

This forest, and its amber'd nice retreats, 

Beguile me to its verdur'd mossy seats, 

And satisfies my feeble languish'd mind, 

For which my muse seems now so much inclined. 

Thee, mighty forest, where the towering trees 

Protect thy inmates with thy tranquil lees, 

O'erspread the earth in which you plant your roots, 

With tinted foliage of thy many shoots; 

Thro' thy retreats the wand'ring hunter roves, 

When frosts have powdered up thy dwarfy groves 

With cautiousness he darts his flashing eye, 

Through drooping boughs, toward the ethereal sky ; 

On leafless spray he sees the pigeon perch — 

The downy game he started out to search, 

With noiseless tread he cautiously advanced, 

His staring eyes toward it fairly danced; 

He approaches soft the old oak by the mead, 

His deadly weapon raised — he draws his bead, 

With certain aim up to his piercing eye, 

A heavy peal breaks on the frozen sky, 

The lapwing feels the hissing leaden ball — 

Pierced thro' and lifeless, earthward it doth fall; 

His game wrapped in its feathery dress so nice, 

Free from the torture of the hunter's vice. 

Before him oft the lark soars up with care * 

Then falls, and leaves its little breath in air, — 



* Warbling notes prepare, 

Then fall and leave their little lives in air. — Pope. 

I would rather believe that they left their breath in air than 
their lives. Pope, perhaps, believed in the immortality of 
birds. 



48 EARLY VANITIES. 

There, there he muses in those realms serene, 

A heaven to him is this sober scene 

To watch the fledgeling owlet by him shoot, 

Athwart the forest at the clumsy coot, — 

The russet leaves crash 'neath his heavy tread, 

Which makes the wild bird of the forest dread 

His foes approach — so to secure a flight, 

On sombre wings he dashes out of sight — 

The hunter gazes up and 'round to see, 

And suddenly his eyes behold a tree 

Inscribed with these initials — A. N. C. 

And the date, "What can th' inscription be?" 

He says, and gently thrusts his gun aside, 

His trembling hands o'er smooth cut types do glide, 

Then peers around the other side to see, 

And there beholds the letters of M. C. 

Carved thirty years before this hunter's tread 

Was ever heard within the forest's bed. 

One generation of God's little race, 

Almost since these names occupied the place, 

I approached the hunter, this was his remark: 

" Whose names are those stamped in that beechen 

bark ? 
It shocked me when I read the date and name, 
To know that years ago while hunting game, 
My father carved his initials on this tree, 
To make men wonder, if by chance they'd see 
Them thus displayed in such a wildwood place, 
And every letter in artistic grace ; 
It was a book with all unfolded pages, 
And had been opened to wild men for ages, 
Telling all who passed the same thing many times, 
If any chance to read the initial lines." 



EARLY VANITIES. 49 

The hunter stooped, his gun he firmly grasped 
And to his aching breast 'twas closely clasped 
Then giving vent to wailing cries of grief, 
Petitioning the Lord to give his soul relief. 
All was now clear ; he knew him years ago, 
The adoration from his heart did glow, 
And crimson flush'd his old and furrowed face : — 
" The mirth that transpired in this sober place, 
" Enough to know," said he, " oh! glorious time, 
When music echoed thro' this copse sublime, 
Piped forth from species of the lapwing kind, 
In warbling notes of melody refined : — 
Oh ! take me, take me to yon lovely dale, 
There let me live, and die, within that vale; 
Where nothing save the wild refreshing note 
Can lull me into death — " oh ! thou remote, 
Consoling forest, if I live one hour, 
'Tis for thee, and thy sweet perfuming flower, 
I'll seek thy shady, cool, and calm retreat, 
And there let life and death in combat meet, 
And struggle for their victory ; and when 
The duel's o'er the weeping foliage then, 
Will be the all that mourns my aged loss, 
Uncoflined, and untombed on thy green moss. 
There let me rest this then comingling dust, 
That is consigned to the Almighty's trust: 
Away with life ! what is it now to me, 
That I may dread and bid it from me flee, 
I'll not, when it alone can give me rest, 
And stop that aching in my tortured breast. 
Oh ! death ! ten thousand times I'd welcome you, 
'Tis easy now for me to say " adieu " — 
And slylphs from highest heaven gently fly 



50 EARLY VANITIES. 

To my dear verdant couch and watch me die, 
And wandering Peri at the emerald gate, — 
I'm lonely, weary and disconsolate, 
Thy envied life I'm ready now to begin, 
Ope wide thy burnished door and let me in. 

PART SECOND* 



Oh ! mighty oak that stood in days of yore, 
Relieve my mind of what it has in store, 
And tell me all here in thy sylvan glade ; 
What once transpired within thy boundless shade. 
Oh ! could'st thou do what I now ask of thee, 
Annals of years thou would'st unfold to me : 
" Beneath my crest the antler 'd stag and deer 
Sought refuge when the hunter's hounds drew near, 
And under me the wild tempestuous note 
Of prankish boys on Zephyr's wings did float, 
Chasing hares thro' leafless tangled wildwood, 
The game and sport that so enraptures childhood; 
Up o'er the hills the cheerful boys would sweep 
Down through the dale, and up the craggy steep ; 
Athwart the copse, and by the verdant mead, 
With crossbow bent to shoot the feathery breed ; 
Oh ! Forest of my childhood, oft I grieve 



* Lewis Keplogle, Esq. — My Esteemed Friend : As a sincere 
token of respect for your character, and gratitude for your 
friendship, I dedicate to you the second canto of ' ' Hum- 
phrey's Forest, " written in early life, with the only regret since 
our first acquaintance, the pleasure I lost before it com- 
menced. The Author. 



EARLY VANITIES. 51 

To know thy kind retreats, now I must leave, 
And wander from thee, and thy inmates dear, 
From thee, so long and still, to me so near, 
The brooklet and its silvery gliding waves, 
Where oft the languish'd hunter stoops and laves 
To quench his thirst, and soothe the aching pain ; 
Where oft he comes, and laves, and comes again. 
I will in future often think of thee, 
Thou little brooklet, ever dear to me ; — 
The icy dewdrops on the leafless spray, 
Bedeck the forest with a giittoring ray, 
When Luna sheds her pure and vestal lights, 
In streams of lustre on a tranquil night ; 
The silvery baubles on the little stem 
Once tranquil dew-drops, then a diadem, 
Congeal'd by wintry air up in the tree, 
And beads its twigs, which men need only see ; 
To love, when here within these realms serene, 
And change his joy as in a sombre scene. 
And yet the hunter sees no beauty there, 
But as the raven wings its flight through air, 
His beauty goes, his piercing eye can see, 
And trace its flight athwart the hazy lea. 
Ye sacred friends, with whom I am impress'd, 
A word to you sincerely now address'd ; 
I love the place, its stately forest trees, 
Where oft we've linger'd in the shady lees, 
For thee, and for the solemn tinted scenes, 
Where once we gamboled o'er the steep ravines, 
And chas'd the fox into his dismal grave,* 

* This was the srjort of idle winter days, in which congrega- 
tions of boys and men were engaged. I have witnessed as 



52 EARLY VANITIES. 

Untombed him while the hungry dogs did rave, 

Then, resurrected, bounding down the lane, 

He left canines to scent his track in vain. 

— That little cottage smiling through the trees, 

Now crumbling to the earth by slow degrees, 

The pleasant home of happy childhood's seat, 

Where 'round the blazing fire its members meet, 

The romping peal of laughter, and the tread 

Of busy feet still linger in my head. 

Whene'er my thoughts revert to those sweet days 

Of early childhood's subtlety and plays, 

Down past the beech, across the bridge the while, 

My eldest sister led me up the stile, 

To where a dismal school-house lonely stood, 

In the near corner of a belted wood. 

There oft I've sat with swinging feet behind, 

A desk I scarce could chin with busy mind, 

And trembling form, whene'er the master's nod, 

Would bow toward his keen and faithful rod. 

— In Humphrey's Woods the blooming wreaths will 

grow 
While lasts the valleys, or the fountains flow, 
I long while walking tho' those sober scenes, 
To see them often in my vision'd dreams, 
I'll call them up whene'er my mind's oppress'd, 
To give me solace and to give me rest, 



many as twenty hounds and curs after bruin at one sight. 
After running all day, he became tired, and would den for the 
night. After securing him thoroughly in his den, the crowd 
would disperse till the next morning, and then, either dig him 
out or, if his den was near a rivulet, take buckets and fill his 
cave with water, which would cause him to come out in hot 
haste. 



EARLY VANITIES. 53 

I'll think how oft I've roamed from shade to shade, 

In search of game within this sylvan glade, 

And later when I was on starch parade, 

Fast to the arm of some fair smiling maid, 

Where oft have sat fair nymphs of mossy seats, 

As sober as a king when in the leets, 

Where thoughts of love echoed from ear to ear, 

And ev'ry bough twined amorous 'round its dear, 

And then to change the scene, soft mirth would flow, 

From hearts where love was ebbing faint and low ; 

There oft we stole within the balmy woods, 

When ochered leaves were pouring down in floods, 

And in the dampness of the vapory fog, 

We'd seat ourselves upon the mossy log, 

And gather leaves as fair as tinted flowers, 

And garland them into attractive bowers ; 

They seemed to fall for happy lovers there, 

To weave in bouquets for their streaming hair, 

As 'round their necks it played in ringlet twirls, 

For lovesick maidens and for happy girls. 

— Oh ! heaven's lurid flames of ether blue, 

That oft hath shed its bright and dazzling hue, 

In sparkling rays upon the daffodilly, 

Which crimsoned deep that fair-faced saffron lily, 

That stood beside reflecting back the blush, 

Which ether gave to that young orange bush — 

— The marble figures of a hazel-eyed 

Fair nymph has often pluck'd that rose beside, 

From off its tiny silken trembling stem 

To decorate her golden diadem; — 

The rose it blushed before that happy maid, 

And wilted down within the dewy shade ; 

The beauty beaming from her fair white face, 



54 EARLY VANITIES. 

Shamed the pale lily with its tinted grace ; — 

That modest flower that sat beside me there 

With bloom of youth impressed with beauty rare, 

Upon her sable brow, now sweetly sleeps. 

Low, silent, 'neath where fern and ivy creeps, 

Alas, alas ! like some fair flower of May, 

The thread of life was snapped, and swept away 

My Mary on a bright mid-summer's day. 

— All beauty is but ornamental dust, 

Earth clothed by nature's laws, and surely must, 

Return in time from whence all nature came ; — 

Primeval beauty then return again, 

And clothe yourself anew that I may see, 

My fairest flower once more full blown by me, 

A daffodil, with embryoes to bloom, 

And decorate her peaceful tranquil tomb. 

And when I gaze upon that little flower, 

And see its blush augmented by a shower 

Of silvery dewdrops, that I once di^l see, 

Clothed by the silken ties of modesty. 

'Tis changed, yet beautiful tho' transient now, 

Yea, transient then, the flush would not allow 

The blushing tint to last upon her brow 

In polished beauty as it once did glow, 

But as the little stem that holds the rose, 

Unnourished, dies, and to the earth it goes, 

And mingles with the rough and scraggy tree. 

Gigantic to the sight whene'er we see 

It clothed in beauty pleasing to the eye, 

With every atom tinged in nature's dye ; 

All things that grow are from the mighty earth, 

She gave the comely and the homely birth, 

And to her all must be consigned one day, 



EARLY VANITIES. 55 

The great, the small, the beautiful and gay, 
And what is beauty then, but merely clay ? 
So boast ye not of charms supremely dress'd, 
Of colors, tints, or anything possess'd : — 
The little jasmine, and its fragrant flowers, 
Exotic poets claim more fair than ours, 
We'll cite them to the pale narcissus rank, 
That grows upon old Humphrey's mossy bank, 
And to the snow-drops on the little stems.* 
That bawbles white each spray with diadems, 
And the fair Crocus in its early bloom, 
That often throws its shade above the tomb, 
And points to heaven's bright eternal dome ; 
And to the fragrant Hyacinth, that grows 
In this dear forest where fair beauty glows ; 
The Nympha-Lotus half blown, tinged with blue, 
With the fair radiance of the silv'ry dew, 
The passing emblem for the poet's eye, 
Who cannot gaze and quickly pass it by ; — 
To study God we must be dutiful, 
And learn that all that is, is beautiful, — 
That color is no more than nature's dye, 
That falls so pleasing on the flashing eye. 

* This is a bulbous domestic plant, bearing white flowers, 
and is rarely seen growing wild in the woods, yet they grew 
occasionally in this forest ; and, when quite a small boy, I have 
taken them from the woods, and transplanted them in our 
door-yard. They are very beautiful, the flowers being round, 
white balls clinging to the twigs. 



56 EARLY VANITIES. 



PART THIRD. 



Prepare my Muse, to tell what Humphrey's bore, 

What men first breathed upon her verdured shore, 

The destinies of those without a name, 

And those who rose from humbleness to fame, 

The Aborigines that roamed this sod 

Unknown to them the being of a God, 

But in the stones they saw him pictured fair, 

And in the clouds, and in the balmy air,* 

They bow'd to these their idods and their gods, 

For succor in these wild and dreary woods, 

With their untutored minds so unrefined, 

They claimed the happy hunting ground they'd find 

When death had done its work, yes, then they'd go, 

With arrowed quiver, and a new-strung bow, 

Prepared by gods they worshipped on the land, 

Who stood there waiting with an outstretched hand, 

To welcome them where game was to be found, 

And to their longing happy hunting ground ; 

But oh, poor Indian tho' you fail to know, 

Your destinies 'twill but surprise you so. 



* Lo ! the poor Indian, whose unturtored mind, 
Sees God in clouds, and hears him in the wind. — Pope. 

It is well established, that some tribes of Indians worshiped 
idols, and, as a general thing, believed in a future life. 




His wailing notes would but increase their ire, 
And indignation to arouse the fire, 
The blaze comes on, his trembling form to roast. 
With fiendish yells they round him dance and boast 
And light the splints that pierce his trembling flesh, 
And stir the fire and oil the burning trash ; 
This was the sport of Indians when their rights 
Were first invaded by the vagrant whites. 



EARLY VANITIES. 57 

— In thee, fair forest, and thy darkened shades,* 
Oft have the Indians, and their dusky maids, 

In merry glee, encircled in the dance 

With bloody arrows, and the glittering lance, 

Some wandering pale face sentenced to expire 

Within the flaming billows of a fire. 

His wailing notes would but increase their ire, 

And indignation to arouse the fire, 

The blaze comes on, his trembling form to roast, 

With fiendish yells they round him dance and boast, 

And light the splints that pierce his trembling flesh, 

And stir the fire and oil the burning trash ; — 

This was the sport of Indians when their rights 

Were first invaded by the vagrant whites : — 

— But fame immortal whom dost thou now crown, 
As benefactors with well won-renown, 

And who that this old forest Humphrey's bore, 
Has crowned himself with thy exalted store ? 
What ! must I hear that from this sacred land, 
No one has stepped upon fair memory's stand, 
But as death cooled their sable brow and face 
They passed obscurely from this sacred place. 

— But to old Humphrey's I must now advance — 
And picture her in truth mixed with romance : — 

— Resound ye hills my youthful murmuring voice, 
And let me live one moment and rejoice; 

The horses neigh, the lowing cows that call, 



* There is still a certain place pointed out as being the par- 
ticular spot where many white men perished at the stake, 
when they first began to explore this portion of the country. 
Whether it is so, I can not say. I know I have never passed 
that place without thinking of such a fiendish act. 



58 EARLY VANITIES. 

Oh ! let me hear; yes let me hear them all ! — 
Blessed was the day when I the stock did keep, 
Of equine species, swine and flocks of sheep ; 
The crying lambs, the piping fowl, the swine, 
Oh ! could I hear them now, I would decline, 
Unless my father, brothers, too were here 
To blend their voices on the liquid air, 
And mother's voice and sisters' charming song, 
To mingle echoes as they float along ; 
Oh ! just one hour of these dear rustic scenes, 
Let me enjoy for nights of pleasant dreams; — 
On this old point where once the cane mills creak, 
Aroused the vermin with its clamorous shriek ; — 
Ye, gentle winds now bear my sighs away; 
And picture to me one dear youthful day, 
Let every tree its ambered beauty show, 
And every leaf with sparkling radiance glow, 
Let thoughts of anguish flee from this dear place, 
And gentle scenes of childhood flush my face, 
My youthful days are now a bloom in mind, 
And visions playing round of every kind — 
There go my sisters, with their glittering pails, 
Here come my brothers with their polished flails, 
My father's voice now echoes to my ear; 
My mother's songs are soothing me now here ; 
The sugar orchard's all aglow with drops, 
Of sweetened water 'neath the maple tops; 
Pipe forth ye warblers, on this brightened day, 
From every bramble, bobolink and jay, 
Inflate your lungs with pure and balmy air, 
And pour forth warbles both distinct and clear; 
Ye, plieasants, drum the logs with beating wing, 
And lapwing float th' ethereal deep and sing ; 



EARLY VANITIES. 59 

Ye, cawing crows, pitch forth with boisterous lays, 
And bring mementoes of my childish days ; 
Awake the forest with thy mellowed strains, 
This maple orchard, and old Humphry's plains; 
Let warbling sounds re-echo through this glade, 
Till the low sun hath lengthened every shade; 
Resound ye echoes of my brothers' scoff; 
While in the camp they lift the brimful trough, 
And pattering feet of romping sisters' fly, 
With noisy tread and pass me quickly by; 
Resound, resound, all mellowed tuneful strains, 
It is these warbles that subdue my pains; — 
Ye, gentle zephyrs, bear my sighs away ; 
And let me live in youth this tranquil day ; 
And mockbirds, as you float the deep above 
Pipe forth the music I so dearly love ; 
I'm young again within this sylvan glade, 
Beneath the trees within the darkened shade; — 
Ye shading branches and ye sparkling beams, 
O'erspread with beauty the transparent streams, 
Where oft I've stooped upon the verdant bank, 
And from the silvery ripples fondly drank; 
There with my playmates often have I strayed, 
To catch the " scaly fry " within thy shade, 
With eagerness I'd gaze within the brook, 
And watch the minnows at my tiny hook ; 
Come, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away ; 
Let cherished thoughts revive me while I stay, 
And silv'ry brook a mirror to me be, 
Reflecting back the traits of childish glee. 
Oh! let me now a moment pause and think, 
Where once we let the wearied horses drink, 
And drove the stock athwart the craggy hill, 



60 EARLY VANITIES. 

Where every thing to-day is calm and still, — 
What did I say ? Oh ! let me think and pause, 
And such a thought my breath, my breath it draws, 
To know that all I've said is as a dream, 
For nothing but this merry rippling stream, 
Remains unchanged since those bright days of yore ; — 
I can but weep, oh, let me, I implore — 
Oh ! that I could forever flee these scenes, — 
Or always see them as they glow in dreams. 



EARLY VANITIES. 61 



FOR A COMMON-PLACE BOOK 

Of Miss Carrie Richmond, an accomplished young lady, who 
died of a cancerous enchondroma, after suffering for nearly 
two years. Written a few weeks before her death. 



THE opening buds so often lie, 
Cold on the spray ; 
When they begin to bloom they die, 
And pass away. 

And often, like October flowers, 

Fond friendships last, 
They bloom into attractive bowers, 

And then they're past. 

But if in after years you read 

My " Kunic rhyme/' 
Remember me, a friend indeed, 

Throughout all time. 

New Year's Day, 1881. 



*?>? ®f $® ><3? 



62 EARLY VANITIES. 



TO A CONCERT TROUPE. 



THY music taught my heart to feel, 
And even thy voluptuous swells, 
That thou dicl'st waft with pomps and zeal, 
From lips where ODly concord dwells. 



When sad despair enshrouds my face, 
Oh, could I fly to where thou art, 

And linger in that heavenly place, 

Till thy sweet songs would soothe my heart. 



EARLY VANITIES. 63 



On Being Tormented by Some Boys. 



i 



OEE fools we want to join the band, 
That crowd beneath this roof, 

'Till the asylum can withstand 
Their harangues and reproof. 



Let devils blush, and satan shake, 

While medicores' frown, 
'Till asylum officers can take 

These natural fools from town. 

Oh ! pity crazy men and feel, 
As men should do with sighs, 

When all their sense lies in their heels, 
And never can arise. 






64 EARLY VANITIES. 



THE FAIR SEX. 







LD Europe may boast of her belle, if she dares, 
But she'll wilt when she tries to compete 

With the gossiping jilts of American fail's, 
And, humble, resign at her feet. 



An American jilt, at the age of fifteen, 
Knows all the slang phrases in use, 

But when at your face her nice gentle mien 
Will smuggle her jilting abuse. 



Schooled up to the times, she is backward and 
slow, 

Unless at fifteen she is free, 
To coquette and flatter some weak, wayward beau, 

And cry out, " a second Narcissus for me." 



Your eyes will see beauty she does not possess, 
And the virtue of Themis she'll claim, 

While blushing at charms of her own loveliness, 
And claiming fair Venus' name. 



Out of the Beau Monde, so illiterate and queer 
She pipes forth with primps and with twirls, 

Then taking a seat at the piano she'll sneer, 
" All out of the fashion are churls." 



EARLY VANITIES. 65 

The daughter of Nemesis then will appeal, 

With an air of aflection for praise, 
When the humble Narcissus will haste to reveal, 

" The charms of her heavenly lays." 

Away you heart-breakers, ye treacherous maids, 

Weak brains you can only beguile, 
And men of good breeding will know it degrades 

His virtue to on you once smile. 

1867. 



FOR AN ALBUM. 



AS thro' life's span we fleeting go, 
We should not this forget, 
'Tis always better not to do, 

Things that we will regret, 
For memories in declining years, 

Will make us young in age, 
If sunny life from youth appears, 
Thro' its eventful stage. 



66 EARLY VANITIES. 



EARLY RELIGIOUS SONGS. 
Almighty God. • 

ALMIGHTY God, around thy shrine, 
We bow in humble praise, 
Thy love our hearts seek to entwine, 

And sing to Thee our lays, 
The Truth shall 'lurninate our land, 

That all the blind may see 
Within the bounds of Thy command, 
The light sent forth from Thee. 



Thou art O, God, the Life, the Way, 

That leads us safely home 
To that immortal, endless day, 

In peace with Thee to roam ; 
Thy truth, O, Lord, shall spread around, 

And melt the sinner's heart, 
'Till all thy blessing so profound, 

Make him from sin depart. 



1867. 



EARLY VANITIES. 67 



FOR A FUNERAL OCCASION. 

1AM not dead, but sweetly sleeping 
On that soft and tranquil bed, 
Prepared by Jesus, from whose keeping, 
Flee all sorrows, pain and dread. 

Weep not, my friends, 'tis right to leave you, 
On this chilled and transient shore; 

Let not the God above thus grieve you, 
For with death all sorrow's o'er. 

To pass from earth into such pleasures, 

Is a bliss all unexpressed, — 
No cankering, cancers, earthly treasures, 

Can ensnare or harm the blessed. 

To die is but to live forever, 

Then wipe away those falling tears, 

And come to me where time can't sever, 
The mutual joys that heaven endears. 

1867. 



68 EARLY VANITIES. 



i 



DEDICATING ODE, 

E'VE met to dedicate 
To God's devoted grace, 

A church we approbate — 
Salvation to our race. 

We sing in lyric song, 

And praise the God above, — 
The notes will all prolong, 

That sing redeeming love. 

Thro' all .our heavenly lays, 
Strike no discordant air, 

Let God direct our ways, 
And all for Him prepare. 

No more the heathen sings, 
Nor lulls the myth to sleep : 

He bows to sacred things — 
Repenting, he doth weep. 



We bow around Thy shrine, 
To extol Thy loving name, 

And praise Thy works divine, 
Through all this wide domain. 

1867. 



EARLY VANITIES. 69 



Farewell to the Meanest People on Earth. 







NCE loved, once damned, old place farewell, 

In ignorance lie you low, 
Sleep on, in slothful slumbers dwell, 

Let seeds of discord grow. 

Once did I love to tread thy plain, 
And mingle in thy follied crime, 

'Till science dawned upon my brain, 
And vice seem'd less sublime. 

Go on thy course, unseen, unknown, 

Fight with thy foe intelligence, 
And for thy many crimes atone, 

By faithful works of penitence. 

Oh ! where intelligence is not, 
There victims lurk of cruel fate, 

For envy and corruption blot, 

The souls that swim in poisonous hate. 



mm%%%^ 



70 EARLY VANITIES. 



TO MISS NETTIE WYAND. 

For a Common-Place Book. 

r OU ask me now to write for thee, 
" On this blank leaf reserved for me," 
Some little tribute clothed in rhyme, 
A sweet memorial, and sublime, 
I feign would grant the boon desired, 
But surely such is not required : — 
I can but give you this advice, 
Ne'er change your name for any price, 
E'en tho' you're offered the costly viand, 
Forever let your name be Wyand. 



I 



EARLY VANITIES. 71 



THE THREE SONS. 



M one o' the three o' father's sons, 
And I'm 'etween the two, 
One follows swift, the other shuns, 

The course that I pursue; 
The older boy some Thirty-Eight, 
Is grown in the world's affairs, 
He's added on to his estate, 
The fruits of all his cares. 



He al'ays was so from his birth, 

But differ'nt 'twas with me, 
And 'tis a myst'ry on this earth, 

How differ'nt boys can be; 
And stranger, too, when we can find, 

Within the Holy Book, 
That ev'ry seed's just like its kind, 

Iti substance and in look. 



I sometimes think that this is so, 

Because I saw it there, 
And then I think — and, too, I know> 

That we're from the same pair ; 
I was a gen'rous boy, they say, 

Kind-hearted, bold and brave, 
And ev'ry mite I threw away, 

One like it he would save. 



72 EARLY VANITIES. 

And now his store has grown to be, 

A large and handsome one, 
While mine's so scant I can but see. 

It's less than when begun ; — 
I was not rude enough to swear, 

I've been just so from youth, 
Tho' I'd fight an' pull my brother's hair 

("An' sometimes tell the truth.' 1 ) 

When I was spendin' roun' the stores, 

Enjoy 'n' social pleasure, 
Too big to work, an' on my " Oars" 

He tugged away for treasures; 
His bank kept growin' day by day, 

An' mine kept growin' too, 
But growing in a different way, 

From what my brother's grew. 

He'd add a bauble to his pile, 

And I'd take one from mine, 
Then he'd turn around and smile, 

As if I dress'd too fine : 
And day by day my money went, 

'Till, alas ! I'd squandered all, 
And then I learn'd what savin' meant, 

And pride it took a fall. 

My tender hands unknown to work, 

I knew not what to do, 
But found a place and tho't I'd shirk, 

If they should put me thro' ; 



EARLY VANITIES. 73 

With hands all checkered up with sores, 

I tugged away awhile, 
'Twas not such fun as when on " Oars," 

Dress'd up in dandy style. 

I chopp'd, I sow'd, I talk'd, I blow'd, 

And tried a start to gain, 
I told 'em all how much I know'd, 

But this was all in vain ; 
They'd listen not to my appeals 

About my active brain, 
Bein' always ready for my meals, 

They talked about my " grain." 

They said, " work went agan st it so," 

And I sort'r think it did, 
For when they next to work did go, 

I ran away and hid. 
Straight way up to the town I went, 

All tired and stiff and sore, 
Without a shilling or a cent, 

To strain mv credit more. 



I made a vow I would not toil, 

E'en if starvation came, 
An' this here frame a dungeon's spoil, 

And disgracer o' the name : 
I said, " if in a week I'm jugged, 

I'm going to make my mark, 
I will humbug, or be humbugged," 

So I launched my little bark. 



74 EARLY VANITIES. 

I'd wrote a book on common sense 

(But forgot to put that in), 
And I got bluff 'd some, and the smoke was dense 

When the people said " 'twas thin." 
But I paid 'tention to their speech, 

And let such judges be 
(Yet, every man I tried to reach 

I found him smarter'n me.) 

My credit wasted all away, 

And money, too, clean gone, 
And no place on this earth to stay, 

Where welcome seem'd to dawn. 
But I went to see young brother then, 

To know what he had done, 
I found him class'd with little men, 

(And fame, like mine, he'd won.) 

We talk'd an' parl'ed an' agreed 

To gain our rank in life, 
That we'd at once the task proceed 

To hunt us up a wife ; • 

The road to brother's house we took, 

To get advice from him, 
(And money) this did make him look, 

Pale, haggard, sad, and grim. 

He told us that we were ^niost lost, 

But may be we could find 
Some plain clad cre'ture not emboss'd, 

Or polish'd, or refin'd, 



EARLY VANITIES. 75 



That would be willing to disgrace 

Her life for evermore, 
An' toil to aid us to replace 

Our credit an' our store. 



To get some wealth we ask'd his name 

To take a check safe thro', 
He said ("that's just about the same 

As giv'n it to you,") 
But then his huge iron safe he op'd, 

(With a mourner's sigh,) 
An' pip'd forth that he truly hop'd 

(" We'd have to work or die,") 

He gin us fortv-five ($) apiece, 

We went staight to the stores, 
An' dress'd ourselves as sleek as grease, 

An' " laid upon our Oars " 
Two lasses then we tried to find, — 

But they looked us with contempt; 
An' all the beautiful female kind, 

Said, they'd rather be exempt. 

(I tole'm that I was the author o } " Common 
Sense,") 

An' they laugh'd right in my face, 
An' said I was a dead expense, 

An' the author o' disgrace: 
This was our fate with the upper class, 

An' I could'nt make'm believe 
That such a book as mine would pass, 

An' intel'igence deceive. 



76 EARLY VANITIES. 

We tried a class some low'r down, 

To see what we could do, 
But they would only on us frown, 

An' me an " author " too ! 
I become disgusted wi' my fate, 

An' determined to take one, 
If I had to marry her for hate, 

An' she married me for fun. 

(At last) — an old and wrinkl'd thing, 

Smil'd on me one day, 
She wore a cap an' pewter ring, 

An' hair all turnin' gray, 
I met her with a kind o' grin, 

As tho' I didn't care, 
She was as ugly as " Old sin," 

With all her dappled hair. 

I told my brother I'd foun' a wife, 

But not the han'som' kind, 
That said she'd bless my future life, 

Though she was not refined. 
I show'd her to him the next day, 

He, musing on her, gazed, 
And when she turned to go away, 

He stood abash'd, and 'mazed. 

He said that he'd remain alone, 

Forever an old bach, 
Before he'd live with such a drone, 

As ugly as the " scratch," 



EARLY VANITIES. 77 

And that the cotton and whale bone, 

That fills where nature fails ; 
And paint upon her face alone, 

Shows well that art prevails. 

I stood stock still and work'd my lips, 

For I didn't like it at all, 
That he should be there throw V his chips, 

E'en if I was takin' a fall, 
So I told him I wanted no more o' his talk, 

For I tho't I was doing just right, 
An' I, an' the slender Malissa Jane Hawk, 

Were married the very next night. 



I know'd she's ugly as sin, but yet 

There's qualities makin' this right : 
I never had time to this day to regret, 

For she's gi'n me her help with her might. 
An' now it has been almost ten years, 

Since my good 'Lissa Jane I found, 
And may be it don't bring joyful tears, 

To see little " Hawks '' sailin' 'round. 



My books o' com'n sense I hast'ly collected, 
An' committed them all to the flame, 

Where all the renown was to come I expected, 
Pass'd off on the wind with my fame, 



78 EARLY VANITIES. 

I laugh'd, an' I danced, an' I joyfully burnd 'em, 
They'd been so much misery to me, 

And oh ! when to ashes my conscience then 
spurn'd 'em, 
When I knew never more they could be. 

Since books I've so disdain'd 'em to edit, 

I've laid up a very fine store, 
And merchants to-day seem anxious to credit 

Me, whenever I pass by their door, 
The faces that once frown'd so wrinkled and ugly 

When I happen'd to go in their ring, 
Now smile all over as pleasant and snugly, 

As tho' they were prais'n a king. 



$i®& 



EARLY VANITIES. 79 



1NPR0MPTU. 



I STOOD UPON THE LITTLE HILL 



1 STOOD upon the little hill, 
And gazed out o'er the plain, 
I saw beneath the turning mill, 
And heard the rolling train. 

My youth came back to me once more ; 

I lived those happy days, 
When light feet tripped upon the shore, 

In life's sweet dizzy maze. 

My brother now that lies in death, 

With me was joined in hand, 
Inhaling the sweet ftowret's breath, 

While chasing o'er the land. 

Our minds were then as free as wind ; 

We passed no gloomy hours ; 
We thought the future would be kind, 

And strew our path with flowers. 

But as age by degrees crept on, 

Alas! some clouds arose, 
Thro' which we scarce could see the dawn, 

Of silvery hopes repose. 



80 EARLY VANITIES. 

'Twas when placed on our own resource, 
What future must be ours, 

What avocation and what course, 
To pass most pleasant hours. 

This is the rub that wrecks the mind, 
And clogs the brain of all ; 

A question that decides so kind, 
Whether we rise or fall. 



mmm 



EARLY VANITIES. 81 



WHAT IS IT ? (E.) 



I ALWAYS appear at the end of your nose, 
I'm never in wrong nor in right, 
I gently creep in thro' your/eetf and your toes, , 
And you never do see me in sight. 

I'm commencing in England, and ending in France, 
Yet I'm even in Germany too, 

And in joining each meeting and ending each dance, 
And landing in each foreign crew. 

I'm found in #ie waves of the deep breaking sea, » 
And the centre of every great theme; 
And I go on, and on, thro' eternity, 
And appear in every one's dream. 

They see me in heaven, and hear me in hell, 
(In angels, and o*eyz7s I'll be ;) 
In the hottest and coldest of regions I dwell, 
And everything holds little me. 

I'm in all diseases, but never in pains, 
Am silent in every bad ache; 
I'm never in 5foc*/, but always in veins, 
Yet right, but in eyevy mistake. 

March, 29, 1867. 



82 early vanities. 

Read at the Fortieth Anniversary of 
Father's and Mother's Marriage. 

IMMENSITY'S spread out before me, 
„ As I gaze up thro' heaven's blue dome, 
And beautiful stars twinkle o'er me, 

While sitting and thinking of home — 
The home of my youth, my reflections, 

Recalling events to my mind, 
Of pleasures and fond recollections, 
That lodge in the hearts of mankind. 

They come in the midst of our sadness, 

True shadows and phantoms of past, 
And flow our cup over with gladness, 

Mementoes, but too sweet to last. 
They greet us in sunshine and sorrow, 

And often in midst of our dreams, 
They bring on a happy to-morrow, 

When shades seem to sable the gleams. 

In this reverie and deep apparition, 

O'er the bed of affliction I see, 
My mother with soothing fruition, 

As visions are flitting by me, 
Her hand the pale forehead caresses, 

As my fair sister parches with heat, 
And the waves of her soft silken tresses ; 

Oh! my heart almost ceases to beat. 



EARLY VANITIES. 83 

Forty years of thy struggles are over ; — 

Thy brows are all furrowed with care — 
Mine eyes have not failed to discover, 

The stings thou wert destined to bear ; 
Thy locks once aglow with such brightness, 

Time alone never caused them to fade, 
From auburn to lustre of whiteness ; 

Deep trials these changes have made. 

Tho' the family chain is dissevered, 

One link now's fast, giving away, — * 
With. affections we all have endeavored, 

To make life a long summer day ; 
Tho' oft times adversity presses, 

And mocks with each victory won, 
Love meets us with tender redresses, 

And burnishes clouds like the sun. 

Many warm friends have fallen around us, 

Since all at home happy and gay, 
When the ties were unbroken that bound us, — 

And alas! we are scattered to day. 
Amanda and Anna, lie sleeping,f 

'Neath the sod where the evergreens wave, 
And the myrtle, and ivy are creeping, 

O'er the dust lying still in the grave. 

* My dear brother Albert, who always went hand in hand 
with me, was lingering in the last stages of consumption when 
this was read. 

t My sister Anna was just two years older than the author of 
these lines, our school-days were nearly all numbered together. 
She was a kind and loving sister. Amanda has already been 
referred to. 



84 EARLY VANITIES. 

And dear ones, ye that shall survive me, 

Thus much, I at least will request, 
Lay me close by their side, 'twill still cheer me, 

As I live to know there I may rest. 
The turf I once trod seemeth nearer, 

Where hope in youth's spring-time arose 
To be blasted in age — There's no dearer 

Last couch for eternal repose. 

When wrapped in the soil I have cherished, 

And the trials of life are all borne, 
Tho' the green carpet o'er me hath perished, 

When ye think of me then do not mourn, 
For the stars that will twinkle in heaven, 

And throw on my grave their soft light, 
Will be symbols Jehovah hath given : — 

To show that I sleep in his sight. 



''SVC *3? y $ *s? 5<JT 







EARLY VANITIES 85 

AUTUMN. 

THE FATE OF THE LEAVES. 

H! the leaves, the beautiful leaves, 
Ochred and crimsoned by nature's dye, 

Slowly they're falling, 

As tho' sadly calling, 
For the simple tribute of a sigh, 

Shifting, 

Drifting, 

Downward they go, 
To be covered o'er by the frost and the snow. 

Oh! the leaves, the beautiful leaves, 
Sadly they drape the sear old trees, 

Gloom all things pervading, 

Sallow and fading, 
Chilled by the blast of the sighing breeze, 

Heaping, 

Leaping, 

Onward below, 
To be covered o'er by the frost and the snow. 

Oh! the leaves, the beautiful leaves, 
Saffron tinted and amber hued, 

Down to decay, 

Thus passing away, 
Emblems of the course our race pursue, 

Rustling, 

Bustling, 

As the winds sow 
Them, all to be covered by the frost and the snow. 



86 EARLY VANITIES. 

Oh! the leaves, the beautiful leaves, 

I grieve for the forest, all naked and bare, 

Dreary and desolate, 

Stripped and disconsolate, 
Chilled by the blast of the keen, howling air; 

Wearily, 

Drearily, 

Sad, and we know, 
Soon, as the leaves, to the earth we must go, 

Oct. 14, 1868. 



EARLY VANITIES. 87 

THE LAST SAD ADIEU. 



A SIGH and a kiss, 
Are but tokens of bliss, 
When parting with friends that are true ; 
And the big falling tear, 
Only flows to endear, 
When we murmur the last sad adieu. 

When our passionate life, 
Has been poisoned with strife, 

And the bud of affection blooms new, 
We then can impart, 
The warm glow of the heart, 

When we murmur the last sad adieu. 

When parting thro' tears, 

Till shall intervene years, 
How sweet are those words to review, 

In memory kind, 

When thoughts are entwined, 
With a sigh for the last sad adieu. 

We too often forget, 
Till we feel the regret, 
When harsh words have been spoken in lieu. 
Of the tender appeals, 
That our best nature feels, 
When we murmur the last sad adieu. 

Sept. 2, 1868. 



EARLY VANITIES. 

TO PROF. J. F. VAUGHN. * 



THO' the star of my future is beaming, 
And clouds that have sabled my sky, 
Now fade all away to its gleaming, 

And pass all despondency by, 
Not long since my last hope was shivered, 

A wreck on a wide wasted plain, 
But I feel that I have been delivered, 
To meet life's tornados again. 

Should the pangs of adversity sting me, 

Or the honors of life duly crown, 
The esteem of warm friends will yet bring me, 

More pleasure than fame or renown. 
The hills of the Wabash rise o'er me, 

All scenes wane but tame to my sight, 
Yet, the dark clouds that loom up before me, 

All vanish away as I write. 

There's a bird in this solitude singing, 

A lone bird deprived of its mate, 
It mourns as its flight it is winging, 

And sighs at its own dreary fate, 
And alas! when I see it thus flying, 

Alone o'er the dark hazy lea, 
On the winds that are sobbing and sighing, 

'Tis-a vision, my brother, of thee. 

* Anna's husband whom I shall ever respect. 



EARLY VANITIES. 89 

Of thee, and thy own that's departed, 

Communing with spirits on high, 
And left thee, and thine broken hearted, 

To mourn as the soft zephyr's sigh. 
Oh! darkness, oh! solitude linger, 

Around me while musing to-day, 
'Mid songs of the plumed forest singer, 

That scatters his music away. 



THE VENOMOUS BOWL. 



ASK not of the man that is seeking to tell, 
Of the woe of the cup, and the potion of hell, 
But go to the den where all of its stains, 
Are sought by the bibber to poison his brains. 
Oh ! the venomous bowl, 
That destroys the soul, 
May we hasten the day, may we hasten the day, 
When all of this curse shall be banished away. 

There, see the worn tippler throw down his last cent, 
And sigh as he quaffs for the pennies he's spent, 
Then think of his family all tattered in rags, 
And wife broken-hearted so famished she begs. 

Oh ! the venomous bowl, 

That destroys the soul, 
May we hasten the day, may we hasten the day, 
When all of this curse shall be banished away. 



90 EARLY VANITIES. 



Behold in your gaze 'round the silvery lamps, 
Sages, coxcombs, comingling with ragged old tramps, 
And every shrill echo that falls on the walls, 
Comes from lips steeped in " hell " and imbued with 
its gall. 

Oh ! the venomous bowl, 
That destroys the soul, 

May we hasten the day, may we hasten the day, 
When all of this curse shall be banished away. 



A son may be called to this damnable place, 
With innocence glowing all over his face, 
There a generous friend perchance he may meet, 
To a bumper or two his friendship will greet : — 

Oh ! the venomous bowl, 
That destroys the soul, 

May we hasten the day, may we hasten the day, 
When all of this curse shall be banished away. 



Just the first step of vice he has then taken up, 
And he yields to the glow of the treacherous cup, 
As he lingers around for the venomous draught, 
Till a dozen or more he has lavishly quaffed. 

Oh ! the venomous bowl, 
That destroys the soul, 

May we hasten the day, may we hasten the day, 
When all of this curse shall be banished away. 



EARLY VANITIES. 91 

He is now o'er the gulf where inebriates fell, 
And ready to plunge in the fathomless hell, 
Where morals, and character, all noble fame, 
Precipitate down into billows of shame. 

Oh ! the venomous bowl, 
That destroys the soul, 

May we hasten the day, may we hasten the day, 
When all of this curse shall be banished away. 

Next, visit the inebriate's home that's so dim, 
And trace all its darkness, and gloom back to him 
Whose blighted avowals in earlier youth, 
Were lit up with joy, and blended with truth. 

Oh ! the venomous bowl, 
That destroys the soul, 

May we hasten the day, may we hasten the day, 
When all of this curse shall be banished away. 

But alas! all his vows he has since yielded up, 
For the wantonous wretch, and the cursed wine cup, 
And led his fair wife from expected delight, 
To forsake all that once lit her future so bright. 

Oh ! the venomous bowl, 
That destroys the soul, 

May we hasten the day, may we hasten the day, 
When all of this curse shall be banished away. 



92 early vanities. 

The Buzz o' the Wheel and the Clash 
o' the Loom. 

THE morning of life ever swells in my bosom, 
As I strike the rough chords of the musical lyre : 
And the flush of my nature that fell in the blossom, 

Yet lives in my heart, and enkindles its fire. 
I see, but in fancy, my youth and its sunshine, 

While sporting at home free from sorrow and 
gloom; 
And often as phantoms the sounds will combine, 
Of the buzz o' the wheel, and the clash o' the loom. 

Oh! they bring to my heart such youthful emotions, 

And they glass to my nature as never before ; 
And I live in life's morning, its tender devotions 

Grow so vivid to mind, that they flush my heart 
o'er, 
The murmuring brook, and the long slanting hillside, 

Where the first rays of sun kiss'd the flow'rets 
to bloom; 
'Mid the fresh fragrant osiers I listened with pride, 

At the buzz o' the wheel, and the clash o' the loom. 

I roved o'er the hills with my wild, romping play- 
mates, 
When life was but tempted with innocent snares ; 
But I thought they were mountains of trouble and 
ill fates, 
As my young bosom heaved, and then stung with 
its cares. 



EARLY VANITIES. 93 

But, oh ! what faint little things tempt us in child- 
hood, 
Oft before us our own little troubles will loom, 
And veil our sweet pleasure, they'll die in the wild- 
wood, 
At the buzz o' the wheel, and the clash o' the loom. 

Like the dew-drops of morn, on the wings of the 
oriole, 
They are gone in a moment while stemming the 
blast, 
But they leave heaven spread to our fullness of soul, 
And we wish to ourselves that they ever could last. 
Age silently plays upon children's fair faces, 

And the flowers soon die with the richest per- 
fumes, 
And we soon must all part from paternal embraces, 
And the buzz o' the wheel, and the clash o' the loom. 

We wander away from our kind parents' greeting, 

Often feeling the care that bereavements impart, 
As we sigh for the tender caress in the meeting, 

And the love that the dear ones have treasured at 
heart. 
Then we fly to our dear friends wherever we roam, 

In a few years we find all changed as doom, 
And we miss, yes, we miss loving eyes of our home, 

And the buzz o' the wheel and the clash o' the loom. 

Aug. 18, 1869. 



94 EARLY VANITIES. 



PATIENCE-CONTRASTED. 

ND Patience must be born of heaven, 
i. It is a virtue of the good ; 

A gift, but coursing thro' the blood, 
That to God's favorites is given. 

It may be gained by slow degrees, 
When not conferred by nature's laws ; 
By it the bitter passion thaws, 

Like snow before a southern breeze. 



Construe it thus ; 'tis of the soul, 
A softly tempered boon of God ; 
By it we spurn the tyrant's rod, 

And live within our own control. 

Night follows day, day follows night, 
And all things are within their sphere ; 
The months roll round to form the year, 

And every law of God is right. 

And patience is the virtue rare, 
That marketh gods of mortal men, 
That giveth triumph over pain, 

Which common souls could never bear, 

Behold the ocean rolling wild, 

When bleak tornadoes sweep its crest, 
Then see it calmly sink to rest, 

And mark the angry from the mild. 



EARLY VANITIES. 95 

Where patience sleeps, condolence lies, 
And both unveiled leave love exposed, 
And when a cloud has 'round us closed, 

A little patience glads our eyes. 

Oct. 18, 1869. 



The Rural (Scotch) Home in April. 



w 



EE, warbling thrush salutes the Spring, 

From ilka bush and thorn, 
An' a' the serial dwellers sing, 

To greet the April morn ; 
And gentle Phoebus throws his ray, 

Through ilka forest tree, 
As nature paints each budding spray, 

In tints to please the e'e. 



And Ceres now begins her reign, 

Wi'in each verdant field, 
To glad our hearts wi' fruit an' grain, 

O' an abundant yield ; 
And when is reaped the golden sheaves, 

That nature's law bestows, 
No more the happy rustic grieves, 

For his despondent woes. 



96 EARLY VANITIES. 

Behind his plow the happy swain, 

Hies merrily along, 
Without a calculating brain 

To e'er disturb his song; 
An' a' day long he turns the soil, 

Wi' hopes protective gain, 
At night fatigued wi' honest toil, 

Plods homeward through the lane. 

He sits him down to rest an' wait — 

Wee prattler by his side — 
Nae cauld, faint-hearted, doubtless fate, 

His future to betide, 
But there wi'in his cottage door, 

Ah ! happier than a king, 
He sits content to ponder o'er 

Bright pleasures' bubbling spring. 

Nae frescoed palace meets his e'e, 

Nae dusty streets sae dim, 
A' towering nature's canopy, 

Seems but a hame to him, 
When daisies deck his fiel's alang, 

An' warblers in each reed 
Blend a' their notes in one sweet sang, 

His hame is heaven indeed. 

April 1, 1869. 




Behind his plow the happy swain, 

Hies merrily along, 
Without a calculating brain 

To e'er disturb his song; 
An' a' day long he turns the sail 

Wi' hope's prospective gain, 
At night fatigued wi' honest toil, 

Plods homeward thro' the lane. 



EARLY VANITIES. 97 

OUR BEST FRIEND. 



AND I now condescend 
To thus sing of a friend, 
That sometimes may prove the reverse, 
But wherever you go, 
I would have you to know, 
Your best friend's the god in your purse. 

We may claim that our love 

Is inhaled from above, 
Pure, balmy — the heart's sweet commerce, 

But you ever believe 

That those hearts will deceive, 
And learn that your best friend's your purse. 

See, the hovel and cot, 

And the widow's hard lot, 
Hear her, her sad story rehearse, 

Let the sight that you meet, 

Prove friends but a cheat, 
Except those you find in your purse. 

And whenever you roam, 

Far away from your home, 
And the world's very smile seems a curse — 

With a sigh and a frown, 

When your head is bowed down, 
You'll learn that your best friend's your purse, 



EARLY VANITIES. 

When adversity wrings 
Our hearts with its stings, 

And all our hopes prove a curse, 
Then everything's dark, 
But the glimmering spark, 

That beams from the god in our purs©. 

Aug. 15, 1870. 



EARLY VANI1IES. 99 

LONGFELLOW. 

IMMORTAL sage ! I've known thee from my child- 
hood, 
And here's a picture thou canst understand; 
An urchin seated in the sombre wildwood, 
The poem " Hiawatha " in his hand. 

Within these sober realms at calmest even, 
When clouds are fringing up the western sky, 

He turns and reads the " Psalm of Life," and heaven, 
Seems to unfold her golden gates on high. 

And there he ponders o'er thy speaking pages, 
Within those breathing solitudes of groves, 

And pleasure prompts his mind as he engages, 
To pay some tribute to the bard he loves. 

The songs you sang have tarried in my bosom ; 

Since early youth, I've read them with delight, 
And in my soul I've felt the budding blossom 

Expand until it almost came to light. 

I oft have feasted on thy thoughts and numbers, 
Thy gentle cadences fell from my tongue, 

Since in my heart, the song you wakened slumber's, 
There may it live when your last song is sung. 

But when at last death visits thy calm pillow, 
And asks thee gently to lay down thy lyre, 

Then o'er thy grave the lonely bending willow 
Will catch the echoes that thou didst inspire. 



100 EARLY VANITIES. 

STORM AT SEA, 







UT on the restless ocean foam, 

I ride the mountain waves, 
The North wind drives me from my home, 

The sea around me raves, 

I love thee, 
Thou silvery sea! 

E'en tho' 'tis dark to-night, 

And not a star in the upper deep, 
To shed the faintest light, 

Or calm to keep 
The waves a sleep. 

But all convulsed the breakers fly, 

And strike the massive walls 
Of our frail bark, and with a sigh, 

Down in her grace she falls, 

Then with a moan, 
And hollow groan, 

She heaves once more afloat, 

The white caps flying o'er the mast 
Immerse the drowning boat 

Oh ! mighty blast 
You'll soon be past, 

And ease the aching breast ; 

By God's strong hand the waves do lash. 
At His command they rest, 

But with a crash, 
And jarring dash, 



EARLY VANITIES. 101 

Once more we're plunged beneath, 
And sink below the guilty foam, 
In a circumambient wreath, 

We then arise, 
The welcome skies, 
Look down and brightly gleam, 

Upon the heartsick exile's home, 
Who's praying for thy beam ; — 

Ruled by God's will, 
All calm and still, 
The ocean rests. And oh ! how sweet, 

To watch it thus so calmly sleep, 
And see the joyful little fleet, 
Rejoice at living on the deep; 

The trade winds blow, 
Both deep and low, 
Over this boundless urn, 

And every breath within the sails, 
Seem whispering " return.'' 

But then the wails 
Of the fierce gales, 

Heed not when on the sea, 

E'en tho' the tossing breakers fly, 

As hungry wolves for thee; — 

The clear pale sky, 
Glads the dim eye, 

When the convulsed and angry wave, 
Tosses the great bark 'round, 

And then engulfs her in a grave, 

Without a mound 
Or tolling sound, 

The mighty hand will save 



102 EARLY VANITIES. 

THE LITTTE GRAVE * 

ONCE more I stand beside the little grave, 
Where rest the hopes and hearts of parents dear, 
Beneath this hallowed ground, where nothing, save 

The murmuring zephyrs sigh so lone and drear. 
Oh ! here ; oh, here ! is left a parent's tear, 

To mix with dust so much beloved in vain ; 
And here's the spot, dear wife, where our career 
Must close, when each within the shell is lain, 
Beside the precious dust we long to love and claim. 

Our thoughts revert to pleasant hours of joy, 
The thousand little gleeful motions loom 

So vividly before us of our boy, 

That fancy pictures him above the tomb. 

We look, and see him not; the misty gloom, 
That bereaved parents' hearts can only feel ; 

For here, oh, here ! the buds of sorrow bloom, 
And glow within our souls a tender weal, 
That faith can scarce assuage, or misty time repeal. 

When I first gazed upon this spot, I sighed, 
Once as a bereaved parent, once again, 

That I should gently lie here, side by side, 

With my dear friends, and free from care and pain, 

* This little grave referred to holds the remains of an only 
and dear little boy of the author. The indulgent reader will 
be willing to pardon my frequent allusions to him, I hope. 
His death appears to be stamped on my memory too firmly to 
be erased by time. Those who have passed the same ordeal 
know. — C . 



EARLY VANITIES. 103 

Commingling ashes there to e'er remain, 
Till all the starry orbs in heaven fade, 

And* time grows old within her solemn reign, 
And every atom of the earth's decayed 
To one chaotic mass — and motion all allayed. 

I look back on the thorny path of life, 
Just as I sing this annual tribute here, 

And feel that sorrow in the future's rife, 
And that I'm now declining to the sere ; 

And as I mourn the one that was so dear, 
I feel a blush steal o'er my fevered face, 

For were my darling with me still so near, 
Temptations might lead him on to disgrace, 
Where now no purer spirit in heaven has a place. 



104 EARLY VANITIES. 



IN MEMOIR. 

THERE ARE QUESTIONS. 

THERE are questions that have tarried 
In the human breast and mind, 
On which reasonings are so varied, 

And the answers so defined, 
That to reach a firm conclusion, 

And say positive ice know, 
Is a fanciul illusion, 

Of the feeble minds below. 

When the mists of time have veiled us 

From the faces that we love, 
And our mortal sight has failed us, 

Shall we meet them all above, 
Shall we recognize their features, 

Shall we greet them with applause, 
Shall we all be God's own creatures, 

And there governed by his laws ? 

And is heaven a field of roses 

In the canopy of blue, 
Where the God of love reposes, 

And the spirits of the true. 
Is the golden entrance guarded, 

By the seraphs who have won, 
Where we all become rewarded, 

For the deeds that we have done ? 



EARLY VANITIES. 105 

When the orb of day is sinking, 

In his horizontal seat, 
And I walk out musing, thinking, 

Earth and heaven seem to meet, 
There my teeming muse will hover, 

Far across the river's boom, 
Where awaits the friend and lover, 

In a land all free from gloom. 

I have heard it preached so often, 

Of the shining shore so fair, 
That my heart begins to soften, 

When I think of being there, 
And my interests all seem centered, 

In that charmed place, far or near? 
Where my little one has entered. 

That my heart yet holds so dear. 

Oh ! my fancies often view him, 

Coming down upon the shore, 
Beck'ning parents, sister to him, 

As he did in days of yore, 
And sometimes I feel like starting 

O'er to my little boy, 
Where we need not think of parting, 

In that Paradise of joy. 



*£2C $t a* St £3fc 



106 EARLY VANITIES. 



Y 



Sonnet to the Soldiers in Heaven. 



E, Soldiers, who so nobly fought and died, 
Your heavenly spirits hear this humble strain, 
Ye did not shed your precious blood in vain, 

But fell as patriots to your country's pride; 

And when I walk out 'neath fair Luna's ray, 
Where the dim night lamps hang in ether blue, 
I fix my eyes, and see your spirits true, 

Pure as the dew that beads the drooping spray ; 

I gaze steadfast into this oval deep, 

And Heaven above me twines her golden chain, 
Then like the droppings of a gentle rain, 

Your voices break in on my musing sleep; — 
And if to honored valor pleasure's given, 
Ye, noble ones, will find your shares in Heaven. 

July 14, 1882. 



EARLY VANITIES. 107 



HOPE 



BRIGHT hope, for ever to me be, 
Thou cheerest when I look to thee, 
My mind's eye sees the far away, 
Through thee I see my ecstacy. 
When down in sadness and despair, 
You come to me, Oh ! hoj)e so fair: 
I see through thee a future kind, 
That takes oppressions from my mind, 
Yet sometimes I do look for thee, 
When thou, bright hope, art lost to me: 
But then thou com'st in brighter rays, 
And bringest me more pleasant days. 
Only for thee I would not give 
A farthing for a day to live : 
True all the pleasant hours I see 
Are in reflections spent for thee: 
Thou art to me the thrilling dart, 
Brings fond emotions to my heart. 
Whene'er my mind's oppress'd in grief, 
Oh ! Hope, thou bring'st me quick relief, 
And when I sink in sad despair, 
Hope, thou art sure to meet me there : — 
When fevers flush my parching cheek, 
Thou art the refuge that I seek. 

1865. 



108 EARLY VANITIES. 

A JUNE RAMBLE. 

I STARTED out one bright June morn, 
To cross the verdant leas, 
While twitt'ring birds on bush and thorn, 

Sang sweetly on the breeze, 
They all seemed social in their rights, 

And equal in their sphere — 
While pitching from their sombre flights, 
Their notes rang sweet and clear. 

I sat me down upon the way, 

Content to hear them smg, 
And ponder why they were so gay, 

While I was suffering, 
I saw them flit from tree to tree, 

Upon the highest spray, 
They seem to carol there for me, 

In aspect less than they. 

I listened to their heavenly song, 

I felt man's humble state ; — 
" Poor earth-born creatures toil along," 

To a disappointed fate, 
A slave to poverty and time, 

Whose sense is to deceive; 
And oft acquaints us of a crime 

For which we sorely grieve. 

There, see them in their downy dress 
Of nature's gorgeous hues, 



EARLY VANITIES. 109 

They fondly ev'ry flower caress, 

Gathering honey dews, 
That fall from heaven, free as air 

They breathe, and not a sigh 
We hear as they their notes prepare, 

In their unlorded sky. 

Man's reasoning mind is not content 

To drag a fruitless life, 
And oft repines for days misspent 

In revelings so rife. 
Methinks that God's own people claimed, 

As likeness of himself, 
Were among the many things misnamed, 

Not by God, but by his elf. 

And when I see these happy birds, 

With only instinct given, 
And all the many flocks and herds, 

They seem more fit for heaven 
Than man, with all his sense and mind, 

And frailties and weaknesses, 
For ever prone to wrong his kind, 

And bring to him distresses. 



•fi£»$$$®g&r 



110 EARLY VANI1IES. 



MIDDAY IN A GORGE IN THE OZARK 
MOUNTAINS. 

LOW in the valley, by a passing stream, 
I stand and gaze above me, and on high 
Behold the tow'ring cliffs bathed in the sky, 
And at high noon the shimmering sun doth beam, 
In slanting rays o'er the rough crags to gleam 
A moment ere the fleecy clouds pass by, 
Then in their shadowy darkness sink and die:— 
Then burst forth as awakening from a dream, 

To glimmer in some deep, dark chasm, by 
O'er hanging cliffs, that carelessly doth swing 
Their broad projecting faces out, but cling 
On to the walls. Those fairy shadows fly, 
Then twinkle for a moment, and defy 
An artist's brush, the which they do outvie. 



%m%^ 



EARLY VANITIES. Ill 



THE SAME VIEW BY MOONLIGHT. 



DOWN in the shadows of a flowery vale, 
I sit alone while darkness creeps around, 
And listen to the babbling brooklet sound, 
Along the sweet and odoriferous dale, 
The while, fair silvered Luna glowing pale, 
Rides on majestic in her reign profound 
As the low echoes of the brook rebound 
Upon the peaceful flow'ret-scented gale, 

While the faint night-lamps twinkling in the sky. 
Throw down their shimmering darts in dim array. 
And darkle in the 'foaming fountain's spray, 
That pour headlong in mountain majesty, 
And there we gaze, and wonder far away, 
In the great heights our longing eyes survey. 






112 EARLY VANITIES. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



To my Wife, While Away from Home 
and Despondent * 



MY wife and my baby I'm thinking, 
I'm thinking of home and of you, 
And the cup that my soul is now drinking, 

Is black as despair in its hue. 
Oh ! wife, thou art fairest and dearest, 

Thou drivest away care's fell pack ; 
Of all on this earth thou art nearest, 

No love for thee can I keep back. 
Let the cold world look down on me sadly, 

When the star of our hope sheds no ray, 
Then you gently smile on me gladly, 

And my gloom quickly passes away. 
Like the forest oak left by the cutter, 

I stand here all shivered at heart, 



* This disjointed fragment was prompted b> very melancholy 
circumstances, and those gods that preyed upon me during the 
time could no more than receive their just reward by writhing 
in a hell that an Indian tribe could make by probing the flesh 
with pointed splints and let the fire be fed by the oily sediment 
that would ooze from their roasting forms — gods read. — 



EARLY VANITIES. 113 

No consolate word can I utter, 

For sure disappointments must part; 
Tho' ambition has sunk in my bosom, 

But the hardest of steel wears away, 
And the budding rose falls in the blossom, 

Ere its hues have all faded away, 
Yet the dark cloud of gloom is before me, 

And my life's blood is ebbing away, 
And the future brings darker clouds o'er me, 

As I look out for one glimpse of day. 
All hopes that I once loved to cherish, 

Have pass'd like a pageant in dreams, 
And all my bright future doth perish, 

And no ray of hope for me gleams. 
Tho' the mind may be fill'd with its errors, 

And the heart be devotional yet, 
And the conscience be smitten with terrors, 

Till the last ray of life's sun is set. 

1875. 



114 EARLY VANITIES. 

THE LANGUAGE OF THE FLOWERS. 

ROSELAND.-A SONG. 



' CULLED them from the rarest, 
. I plucked them from the fairest, 

Roseland ! 
To pay to you a reverence, 
That you'd make no disseverance, 
When I claim your heart and hand, 

Koseland ! 

Oh ! believe me 'tis my duty, 
For your virtue and your beauty, 

Roseland ! 
To gain your heart's emotions, 
From the fount of pure devotions, 
That's at each of our command, 

Roseland ! 

Tho' your lips have failed to mutter 
The love I'd have them utter, 

Roseland ! 
Yet the language of your eyes, 
Tells the tale your tongue denies, 
In coeval silence grand, 

Roseland ! 



And the language of the flowers, 
That I've woven into bowers, 

Roseland ! 



EARLY VANITIES. 115 

Speak my sentiments so true, 
Of my tender love for you, 
That you can but understand, 

Roseland ! 



You accept the offer given, 

Then our vows are sealed in heaven, 

Roseland ! 
And it is with greatest pleasure, 
That I claim the dearest treasure, 
Born for heaven pure and bland, 

Roseland ! 



116 EARLY VANITIES. 



Written at the Opera-House, Jan. 17, 1884, between scenes.— 
Geo. C. Miln, as Iago, in the immortal Othello. 

SONNET. 

SWEET Desderuona, thy arched brow and face, 
Solicit heaven to protect tby name, 
From the foul vortex of inhuman shame, 
And slandering slimy tongues of black disgrace, 
That steal into thy peaceful heart of grace 
Like poison shafts — from Iago they came, 
But to attaint thy honor and thy fame, 
And tear thee from a loyal heart — a place 
Thou meritest, and still it merits thee ; 
But jealous Othello, 'mid kind appeals, 
Casts from his heart his loved one as she kneels, 
Proclaiming honor, love, and chastity ; 

Blind, sick, disheartened, to her bed she reels, 
The pitiless Moor's pillow sets her spirit free. 



'Vg% "3P 1 % % ® ><fF 



EARLY VANITIES. 117 



LORD BYRON. 



KNOW a harp that's been unstrung, 

Many a year, 
And a song that's been unsung, 

And waiting near, 
No minstrel hand will dare awake, 
This ancient harp, or silence break, 
Nor yet the song essay to sing, 
Close hovered 'neath the muse's wing. 

This harp hangs mute for other lords, 

Tho' gentle bred, 
For the hand that swept its chords, 

Now is dead. 
Oh ! who will dare awake the song, 
That has been unsung so long, 
Or vainly strike the chords alone, 
In discord sound its perfect tone. 

Where Byron hung this syren lyre, 

There let it rest, 
Enkindle not ambition's fire 

Within the breast, 
To mock the strains that still vibrate 
The songs of one divinely great, 
As on sweet memory's wing they throng, 
To live in rapture— die in song. 



118 EARLY VANITIES. 

Like the fair harp 'mid starlight pale, 

The Houri swept, 
Wo still can licai- the plaintive wail 

That thro' it crept, 
As some plumed Dryad of the night, 
Sings to the moon in drowsy flight, 
Its tender notes — so yet the song 
Of our great Byron floats along. 



•£g5 1 "SB 1 *s? i § 



EARLY VANIHES. 119 

HAIL! BEAUTIFUL SPRING. 

HAIL ! beautiful Spring in our temperate clime, 
Where the softest airs are sighing, 
How I love thy buds, and thy flowers sublime, 
And the forest choirs as they sing in time, 
Sweet carols as they are flying. 

Hail ! beautiful Spring, how I love thee now, 

All other months are bleakest, 
And the fragrant breath from the flowery bough, 
Fans the parching face, and the careworn brow, — 

Fair Springtime thou art meekest. 

Hail ! beautiful Spring with roses so fair, 

Sprinkled o'er this earth in showers, 
Hills, fields and valleys draped so rare 
As if set by the hand of care, 

And wreathed in golden bowers. 

Hail ! beautiful Spring where the withering leaves, 

Are rustling to the breezes, 
Where we gather the fruit of the golden sheaves, 
And sever the bowers that nature weaves; — 

Oh ! my heart fair Springtime pleases. 

Hail ! beautiful Spring, and the new born rose, 

You bring to my heart such gladness, 
When the woods look green, and the fair wind blows, 
And on every breath with its fragrance glows, 

And wafts far away all sadness. 



120 EARLY VANITIES. 

AUTUMN.-(SC0TCH.)* 

CAULD Boreus strips the forest bare, 
An' strews the earth wi' leaves, 
An' ilka thing seems bow'd wi' care, 

That trembles in the breeze. 
The fields a' powdered o'er wi' frost, 
Which makes them look sae drear, 
While Nature's verdant tints are lost, 
In sallow, brown an' sear. 

The feathered tenants slowly flee, 

To some more kindly clime, 
Where plenty smiles to glad their e'e, 

An' Phcebus reigns sublime, 
But oh, how sad the woodlands seem, 

When a' is hushed an' still, 
Except the wailing winds that scream, 

Thro' leafless branches shrill. 

The relic] ue of the vernal year, 

Lies in its rustling bed, 
An' ilka thing God gi'es to cheer, 

Hath from our e'es now fled, 
An' we are left to stem the blast, 

O' desolation wild, 
Till a' the winter months have passed, 

An' spring has on us smiled. 

* This poem was sold to Peterson's Magazine, if it is not 
published till this goes to press, will have to obtain permission. 
This is the only one now but what my right is exclusive, hav- 
ing obtained permission for those that have not been pub- 
lished, and awaiting publication. 



EARLY VANITIES. 121 

But Autumn dressed in a' her gold, 

Is beautiful to see, 
When Ceres crowns us manifold, 

Wi' harvests ripe an' free, 
An' when the year has passed away, 

There's plenty smilin' roun', 
To cheer us through the dreary day, 

An' make our sleep mair soun\ 

I longing wait the coming spring, 

To glad my heart an' e'e, 
When Nature spreads her verdant wing, 

In ilka branch an* tree,' 
When warbbling Philomel returns, 

To greet the April morn, 
An' the cauld ice-drops gently turns 

To amber on each thorn. 

An' if nae mair the Simmer suns 

Shall glad my heart an' e'e, 
May plenty smile on living ones, 

An' rest in peace on me, 
An' o'er my narrow house o' groun, 

Let angry winters rave, 
But when the spring has come aroun', 

May flow'rs bloom on my grave. 



122 EARLY VANITIES. 



THE DESERTED HOME.* 



THE evergreens have clustered round 
The shivered house, and dark it stands 
Encompassed by the dismal sound 
Of wailing winds — and dreary lands. 

'Tis now the raven's bleak abode, 
And the hare securely feeds, 

And thus it stands without a road, 
Concealed by trees, and moss, and weeds. 

But time whose arbitrary wing, 
Makes transient " all tbat art can do," 

And piles to rubbish moldering, 
The beatiful of years ago. 

And there the venomed adder breeds, 
Concealed within the ruined walls, 

And other tenants from the reeds, 
Beneath where mossy lichen falls. 

The barn is bow'd with age to dust, 
The orchard now is bleak and bare : — 



* This was suggested by visiting the ruins of the old house 
of the owner of Humphrey's Forest. Mr. Humphrey and my 
father settled on adjoining farms. The Cottages that were 
first built by both of them, lie in heaps of dilapidated masses. 
The orchard first planted, is all gone, and everything that I 
saw only points back to the past. 



EARLY VANITIES. 123 

Age brings around decay and rust, 
And we can trace it everywhere. 

These vague entablatures that lie 
All heaped beside the broken frieze, 

And shattered cornices on high, 
Are typical of slow disease. 

I love to tread this lonely spot, 
It has a tender history, 

Almost unknown, almost forgot, 
Behind the veil of mystery. 

Within this clustered copse around, 
Once waved the bright and golden grain. 

Once did the keen-edged sickle sound, 
*F the happy farmers tuneful strain. 

Once o'er the green and flowery lawn, 
A blue-eyed matron bore her pail 

At even, and before the dawn, 
She did outsing the nightingale. 

Tread soft upon this holy ground, 
And hear the evening zephyrs sigh, 

Go view the landscape scattered round, 
Let pity melt thy gazing eye. 

Go, look you through the creaking door, 
Behold the walls once glowing bright, 

That gladdened eyes which are no more, 
Then turn with pity from the sight. 



124 EARLY VANIHES. 

INSPIRATION. 

BY NEMO SOLUS SAPIT. 



r SAT in solitude alone, 
L Like kings of yore, 

Who sat upon a gilded throne, 
Proud that it were their lot to own 
The crown they wore. 

I looked about me and I saw 

The many things, 
That make the world — and felt with awe, 
My breast upheave at Nature's law, 

And flitting wings. 

'Twas mine to muse in such a waste 

Of flowery dales, 
Methought the Nine came down to taste 
Of fairer things than ever graced 

Cashmerian vales. 

There came Melpomene, and there, 

Terpsichore, 
Like winged lightning thro the air, 
And one brief glance show'd them more fair 

Than mortals be. 

Calliope came gently on 
With Erato, 



EARLY VANITIES. 125 

Each with a wreath in heaven won, 

Each brighter than the shining sun, 

At noontide glow. 

Urania glanced with timid eye, 

And Clio fled, 
While Polyhymnia pass'd me by, 
And hastened on with startled cry, 

But gentle tread. 

Enterpe came next, oh ! what a fair 

Goddess of song, 
A golden wreath was in her hair, 
The grace of heaven in the air, 

Her stay was long. 

She told me of her grand abode, 

At Pindus fount, 
And of the palm tree on the road, 
To Helicon, where song and ode, 

Forever mount. 

About her slender waist there hung 

What I desired : 
And cautiously I touched a string, 
That closely held a secret spring, 
Which o'er me silvery waters flung 
From Helicon's immortal Spring; — 

I was inspired. 



126 EARLY VANITIES. 

Poor Erato, meek as a dove, 

Then vanished far 
Into the ovaled vault above, 
I thought she went — the muse I love — 

Or to some star. 



Then having seen this glorious sight, 

My muse did flame, 
I seized my pencil and to write 
Began at once, with earnest might 
To strive for fame. 



I thought, but thought would only tease, 

My gentle muse; 
Sure bards inspired may write with ease 
On any subject that they please, 

Or dare to choose ? 

A buzzing sound, a gentle strain, 

From muse or sprite 
Came floating to my ears again, 
As if to say the thoughts were vain, 

I tried to write. 

I rose from off the log I press'd, 

Mosquitoes flew, 
And swarmed around me sore distress'd, 
So full of blood they could not rest, 

From me they drew. 



EARLY VANITIES. 127 

Ye Gods! if this be inspiration, 

Give me no more, 
The insects of the whole creation, 
Assembled, singing lamentation, 

Had fleck'd me o'er. 

Now when I seek th' inspiring throng 

I'll think of this, 
A peacock's tail to take along, 
A sweet cigar to flavor song, 

Won't be amiss. 

Who are the Nine ? Just let me say 

They are repeaters. 
Seek inspiration where you may 
In forests of a summer's day, 

You'll find them " skeeters." 



128 EARLY VANITIES. 

THE OLD INDIAN CHIEFS RETURN TO 
THE WABASH * 



MUSE of my fancy, fabled to my sight, 
Thy fairy form is but a phantom dream, 
But yet, I call thee when I steal to write, 

And sit me down beside the flowing stream ; 
Assist me now to tell what some have seen, 

Like a grim shadow from the days of yore, 
A solitary chief of sober mien, 

Here sit and listen for the beating oar, 
That oft had sped the swift canoe to shore, 

The clustered copse and hanging boughs above, 
Close woven by the loom that nature plies, 

Makes day as dark as night, and those that love, 
Such solitude could ask no other skies. 

Here in these sombre shades the moon reveals 
Our poor lone chief, who once did proudly tread 

This land in palmier days, but now he steals 
To take one lingering look, where oft he led 
His dusky warriors on — who sleep now with the 
dead. 

* They tell of an old Indian Chief, who returned to the Wa- 
bash Biver, near Covington, Ind. , in the year 1836, after all 
of his early tribe had become extinct. He returned to die, but 
seeing that everything was so changed — except ' ' the lights of 
heaven " — he turned on his heel, and departed to the far West. 



EARL Y VANITIES. 129 

The mosses 'round the fountain still are sprinkled, 
With crystal drops, as they were moons ago, 

Alas ! to-day my brow once smooth is wrinkled, 
By care and time, that laid my comrades low ;— 

Just here the eddying, murmuring waters flow, 
Of the wide Wabash, as it courses on, 

And tells me of the past, but well I know 
That those dear halcyon days are ever gone, 
To leave me here forsaken, blighted and alone. 

The lights of heaven still appear the same, 
All other scenes wax strange upon my sight, 

The boundless forests, where we found the game, 
Now lie to earth, and darkness fades to light — 

The towering castles, where the oak tree's height 
Immers'd her hoary limbs in ether blue, 

Now glass n the Wabash on a silvery night, 
And bring emotions when I steal to view, 
That now, for mine own nature, I cannot subdue. 

Here long I dwelt in this enchanted spot, 

All nature bringing pleasures sweet to me, — 

The wild bird's shriek, the panther's scream forgot, 
But now remembered in my misery. 

Worlds, were they mine, I'd freely give to see 
The forest as it was, the wig- warn near, 

And hear the olden music float with glee, 
Where everything to-day is still and drear- 
And not a note I love falls on my ear. 

Alas ! alas ! my race is almost run, 

Soon will my soul be free from earthly chain, 



130 EARLY VANITIES. 

Immortal glory be for ever won, 

And all my trials here be for my gain, 

Where no pale face can dwell to give me pain, 
Or ever drive me from my heavenly home, 

Inscribed with the insignia, " Our own claim," 
For the eternal God rules heaven's dome, 
Who gave us our own natures, they were wild to 
roam. 

Ah ! the poor red man, whose unlettered mind, 
Sees naught but beauty roaming o'er the hills, 

In nature coarse, in graces unrefined, 
He hears no music but in rippling rills, 

In forest warbles, and the whip-poor-wills 

That blend their echoes with the panther's screams, 

Or with the busy sound of wood-cocks' bills, 
All these prepare his mind for pleasant dreams 
A child of nature, what he is and seems. 

But darkness falls around me while I sit 
Beside the Wabash, as it heaves alonsr, 

And now less vividly my visions flit, 

While list'ning to its merry rippling song. 

And now the "Tuneful Nine,'' a fickle throng, 
Like the dark waters gently ebb and flow, 

And waves beyond me seem to have a tongue,. 
And whisper softly, as they onward go, 
A kindly farewell for the ones laid low. 



EARLY VANITIES. 131 



TIME. 



Respectfully inscribed to L. J. Coppage, by his friend, 
the Author. 



THE arbitrary wing of time 
Prepares the hardest heart for weeping, 
Oft beautifies the less sublime, 

Before its harvest's ripe for reaping; 
How fast the fleeting wing can fly, 

And draw us near the hour to die ; 
Not content the earth to spare, 

That was designed for our repose, 
But garnered up each one must share 

His narrow cell beneath the rose. 

If all were peace, and joy on earth, 

This world would be a Eden pleasure, 
And we would hold the hour of birth, 

More sacred than the golden treasure, 
But all the wings of time must plow, 

And furrow deep each aching brow ; — 
Man makes, and drinks his cup of woe, 

And quaffs the potion 'gainst his liking, 
And, too, his spirit is not slow, 

To feel the heart of temper striking. 

When this brief life is almost done, 
A total blank when back surveying, 

He'll menace death no laurels won, 
And cursfi the time for his delaying, 



132 EARLY VANITIES. 

The treasures sought once in his clasp, 
The future beamed, he would not grasp, 

Time brings him to the steep descent, 
Of broad eternity but fleeting, 

Unworthy of a monument, 

Almost beneath the knell of greeting. 

And when to youth we bid adieu, 

And precious time is sweetly rolling, 
We feel that friends are cold and few, 

And we're the slaves of men controlling; 
Then folly calls us to its shrine, 

Where idleness e'er reigns supine : — 
As rolls the ocean's heaving tide, 

So human feelings are but flowing, 
And who could in a breast confide, 

Where stormy passion 's ever growing. 

The heart displays just such a change, 

And early friendship's often waning, 
Then wait not for time to arrange, 

A unity for all complaining; 
Nature hath sure well done her part, 

Do thou but thine with all thy heart, 
And when the wings of time have flown, 

And borne thee to eternal sleeping, 
All thy good seeds will be well sown, 

And vigils o'er thy dust be keeping. 



I 



EARLY VANITIES. 133 

FAREWELL* 



COME again to see the spot, 

Where once a brother's heart did swell, 
When lisping me his last farewell, 

To never be forgot. 

The shining tear came in his eye, 
And from his wan cheek calmly fell, 

When we clasped hands in last farewell, 
And death was drawing nigh. 

My heart's best feelings all were moved, 
Upon the sound I could not dwell; 

But faintly lisped the last farewell, 
To that young brother loved. 



I saw him to the last oppress'd, 

When o'er his face the death lines fell, 

And on the sound — farewell — farewell, 
He sank to quiet rest. 

I took my leave, his head was low, 
A something whispered to foretell, 

That I had said my last farewell, 
And should not from him go. 

* This was my last farewell taken of my esteemed brother. 
He died in about one week after, having just completed his 
biographical cards, and left in my hands for publication. This 
parting can never be forgotten while I am permitted to retain 
my mind. 



134 EARLY VANITIES. 

Death seemed to ride upon the gale, 

Naught could my spirit's gloom dispel — 

The winds sang requiems, and farewell, 
Of him I left so pale. 

And now the dews that fall from heaven, 
Upon his last long grass-grown bed, 

Are blissful symbols God hath given 
Of all the pure and early dead. 

A blessing brother hallows thy dark cell, 
And o'er thy grave again I say — farewell ! 

May 4, 1880. 



EARLY VA&I7IU& 135 

IN MEMORIA* 

Of our dear little Byron, who died Jan. 27, 1870, age 3 years, 
7 months, and 28 days. 







iTJR home is sad since death came there, 

And bore our brilliant star away, 
Our pride, our joy, our constant care, 
The hope of our declining day. 

I weep, we weep, I know not why, 

But still we weep with hope and love, 

Yet knowing, as I know, to die 
Is but to live with God above. 

What hope, Oh, glorious hope, to think, 
Upon the river's golden side, 

Our friends stand waiting on the brink, 
To welcome us beyond its tide. 

Methinks I see my little boy, 

With hands extended to me now, 

As if in ecstacy of joy, 

To press fond kisses on my brow. 



* I suppose it is natural for every parent to weep for his 
child hut the ties that bound me to this little one certamly 
were'strong, and if I were foolishly attached, it is a weakness 
for which I am innocently to he pitied. If there is any affec- 
tion stronger than parental affection, I hope to never he fully 
acquainted with it. 



136 EARLY VANITIES. 

Time may efface to some degree, 
The sorrow of two broken hearts, 

But tear the branches from the tree, 

How soon the quivering tear-drop starts. 

Our hopes grow bright, our eyes grow dim, 
But weeping is of little worth, 

When all things 'round us breathe of him, 
Who was too pure and fair for earth. 

His little, vacant chair I see, 

Where we were wont to gaze with pride, 
It in the rear stands silently, 

And no one brings it to my side. 

And oft at night in dreams I see 
The little chair rock to and fro, 

And little feet, unweariedly, 
In merry patter come and go. 

We only live with him in dreams, 
'Tis then the joyful tears we shed, 

But ev'ry morning only seems, 

To wake us weeping from our bed. 

The fairest buds e'er to us given, 
Too tender for our earthly care, 

Are quickly snatched from earth to heaven, 
And bid to bloom forever there. 



EARLY VANITIES. 137 

And sweet to know ere sin could blight, 

Or sorrow mark a sister's face, 
The little spirit took its flight, 

To occupy a purer place. 

A bleak cold world 'twould be indeed, 

If I but tho't I'd never meet 
My little child — my heart would bleed 

Until its pulses ceased to beat. 

I have an interest now in heaven, 

I never felt I had before, 
And have had since that fatal even, 

That death came thro' our chamber door 

But little Byron e'er will dwell 

Within our spirits, O, how true, 
We can but say on earth farewell, 

But then 'tis sad this short adieu. 

But now farewell, on earth, farewell, 

My little boy, farewell to you, 
Soon will I go to thee and dwell, 

And there forget this sad adieu. 

Covington, Ind., Feb. 16, 1879. 



138 EARLY VANITIES. 

ON THE DEATH OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD. 

AT REST. 

COLUMBIA united now weeps for her son, 
That fell 'neath the stroke of the murderer's hand, 
Ere the mission he thought to accomplish was done, 

And throbs every heart with grief in our land; 
He is gone, he is gone, where the archangel dwells, 
And he leaves, and he takes with him sweet immor- 
telles, 
While the heart that lies cold now and chill in his 

breast 
Speaks silently to us at rest — now at rest. 

Ever glorious Garfield ! the best of the good, 

So noble in heart and so potent in mind, 
That you bowed the vast Nation in one brotherhood, 
And all wove the garland that's o'er thee entwined ; 
But you'r gone, yes your gone, and your loss we de- 
plore, 
Yet your spirit will bloom in our hearts evermore, 
While the sighs of the Nation go out to attest, 
That your suff'ring is o'er and your soul is at rest. 

The widow and orphans that weep o'er the bier, 
And the gray-headed mother that's bending with 
age, 
For each breathe a sigh, and for each shed a tear, 
That their loved one's enrolled on the martyrer's 
page: 
Go, go every heart to meet those that are grieved, 



EARLY VANITIES. 139 

And join in their sobs for we all are bereaved, 
Yet, think how he suffered while we are distress'd, 
And breathe in one voice " Thank God he's at rest." 



His name's not the idol to which we are bound, 
'Tis the man that we love, and his manhood we 
prize, 
And we all are bereft, but high Heaven is crowned, 

With a spirit as bright as a star in the skies ; 
Come weep with me now for our hero that fell, 
As o'er this broad land chimes but one funeral knell, 
In deep turrets swinging by nervous hands press'd, 
Sending out the same sound, at rest, now at rest. 

Crawfordsville, Ind., Sept. 22, 1881. 



140 EARLY VANITIES. 

THE HAUNTED CHAMBER. 

I HEAR a music in the air, 
I heard it oft when I was young, 
It seemVl to be divinely sung, 
By one to me divinely fair. 

A spirit hovers o'er my bed, 

With lute and harp it comes to sing, 
While I lie silent listening, 

To the sad music of the dead. 

The soft sweet echoes faintly ring, 
Upon my ears while fast asleep, 
I find myself awake to weep, 

Such tender memories they bring. 

What thoughts come rushing to my brain 
And cling like leeches to my soul, 
It makes my grief beyound control, 

My tear drops fall like summer rain. 

The sound is on the liquid air, 
I hear it in the limpid brook, 
Its echoes ring from every nook, 

And seem to melt within my ear. 

Sometimes I hear a heavenly choir 
By her voice led — my spirit groans, 
I muse on the celestial tones, 

And strike them on my broken lyre. 



EARLY VANITIES. 141 

And every wind that dallies by, 

Bears with it some celestial note, 

As on the wings of Boreas float 
The silv'ry dewdrops of the sky. 

The music so divinely fair, 

Now seems to linger in the walls, 

And on my ear its echo falls, 
And melts in soothing accents there. 

She once came in the open door, 
Familiar features mark'd her face, 
I swoon'd to see this child of space, 

And then she vanished ever more. 



142 EARLY VANI1IES. 

DISAPPOINTMENT* 

"riOME, Disappointment, come," 
vJ I feel thy piercing stings, 
But vigils keep some monitress, 
To watch and warn me of distress, 
That time unto me brings, 
And strews my way 
With thorns to-day, 
For I must smile and bear thy chast'ning rod alway! 

" Come, Disappointment, come," 

Tho' hopeful pleasures fly, 
And in their stead I feel 
Thy canker, and I kneel, 
In low despondency ; 
For 'tis my part, 
To bear the dart, 
And nurse the pinion that impelFd it to my heart. 

" Come, Disappointment, come," 

My heart is not of steel, 
Nor to it opes an iron door ; 
And, oh! when it may throb no more, 
May mercy to me deal 
One kind caress, 
For my distress, 



* I trust my readers will pardon the gloomy caste of this 
poem. Some people seem doomed for disappointment. If 
such is the case, I certainly am among the doomed. This was 
written in the midst of deepest despondency. 



EARLY VANITIES. 143 

When silent pleasures 'round my couch have come 
to bless. 

" Come, Disappointment, come,'' 

In all thy terrors clad; 
Hearts were not made to always beat, 
And what is past is obsolete, 
E'en it be good or bad. 
I'll turn my eye, 
Without a sigh, 
To death's prophetic call, and be content to die. 



" Come, Disappointment, come,'' 

To me all hope is dead ; 
Let melancholy phantoms rise, 
They are not pleasures in disguise, 
For many hearts have bled, 
Re-bled, and died, 
When side by side 
With those that flourished well in all their pomp 
and pride. 



" Come, Disappointment, come," 

Death soon will set me free, 
And when life's sun doth calmly sink, 
Then I will be content to drink, 
My draught what it may be ; 
For then, I trust, 
A life more just, 
Will meet us all, when man yields up his earthly 
trust. 



144 EARLY VANITIES,. 

" Come, Disappointment, come," 

Life is of little weight, 
And mine has been of humble rank, 
And, too, almost a total blank, 
And such will be my fate; 
But then, when I 
Am called to die, 
I'll only crave the passing tribute of a sigh. 



EARLY VANITIES. 145 

THE OLD HOME. 

A MONODY. 

LONG years have elapsed, since the place of my 
birth, 
Has appeared to my view, but in fancy and dreams, 
Yet I hold it the dearest lov'd spot upon earth, 
The place where my own native cottage home 
gleams, 

'Neath the boughs of the beech, in the gloom of the 
shade, 
Where the bubbling fount pours its crystals of life, 
There often two brothers so thoughtlessly strayed, 
That they knew not the pleasures of youth were 
so rife. 

The slope of the hills, and the babble of brooks, 
Still live in my heart as I left them of yore, 

And the fields and the woods, and the mountains and 
nooks — 
May I view them as then, or view them no more. 

The cottage has fallen and gone to decay, 

Speak it low ! for it is fatal news that you bear, 

For there the sweet blossom of youth pass'd away, 
And I hoped once agam that I might see it there. 



146 EARLY VANITIES. 

Its entablatures lie in the womb of the past, 

And the beech o'er the fountain will not wave 
again, 
For its broad-reaching branches were caught on the 
blast, 
And hurled to the earth by the fierce hurricane. 

No trace on its trunk, no indenture, or mark, 

Can be found any more for 'tis gone to decay, 
And the names that we carved side by side in its 

bark, 
With the symbols of honor have all passed away. 

But I come to the house of my youth to behold 
The lichens that time hath entwined with her 
wings, 

Since we left it alone, never thinking that mould, 
Was the warp and the woof of the spoiler of things. 

'Twas a dream — for I stood on the hilltop above, 
And I gazed at the pleasant vale sleeping so gay, 

Not a token, or trace, of the scenes that I love, 
Could I see — like a tale they had all pass'd away. 

And the brooklet that babbled along to the mill, 
Sang dolefully now, and not as of yore, 

As it wended its way down the slope of the hill, 
Through the vale, and the grove, to the Sugar 
Creek shore. 



EARLY VANITIES. 147 

The broad-reaching boughs interlacing above, 

Where the wild downy minstrels their decants 
have sung, 

Are now of the past, and the scenes that I love 
Have all vanished away — and still I am young. 

The moral sinks deep in my heart on the way, 
As I pass down the lone winding river of time, 

For behold how the beauties of earth pass away, 
But the mansion in heaven glows ever sublime. 






148 EARLY VANITIES. 

IMPROMPTU. 

BIRTH DAY DINNER. 

THIS day is stamp'd on memory's wing, 
By seals that cannot fade away, 
The bliss and gloom the past doth bring, 
Demand my song, and softest lay. 

A little span of fleeting years, 
To dark oblivion now is past, 

And lefts its mark of care and tears 
Upon the brow where memories last. 

Duration's wing, oh where art thou, 
Thy marks are here, I trace them o'er, 

I read on many a prllid brow; — 

But some are gone — we read no more. 

The friends around the festal board, 
I mark them with a fond delight, 

But many a loved one, and adored 
Has pass'd away from mortal sight. 

The arbitrary wing of time, 

Makes its destruction as it goes; 

Lays its own wastes, feared, and sublime,, 
And intermingles joys and woes. 

Last birth day found a brother here, 
He's pass'd away, but as a dream ; — 



EARLY VANITIES. 149 

Oh ! could I speak of him more dear 

'Twould be my theme, my worshipped theme. 

Last birth day gazed I on a child, 

Whose eye were fair and blue as heaven, 

A little boy, pure undefined — 
An angel to fond parents given. 

As flowers before the Autumn blast, 
When leaves are in the bleakest sear ; — 

From earth to heaven our darling past, 
And left us, but to memory dear. 

This, all this in one short year, 

I cannot, cannot trace events, 
Too much for broken hearts to bear, 

Tears are the fitting eloquence. 

Dec. 14, 1879. 






150 EARLY VANITIES. 



AN ACROSTIC. 



TO J. R. ETTER, M. D. 



TOG on, my brother, seek the farthest land, 
Remembered, quite forgotten, or unknown, 

E'er on the stroll, and never on the stand, 
To make the knowledge of the globe your own, 
To the North Pole from Heidelberg and then 
En route to some place where no one hath been, 
Roaming for knowledge now unknown to men; 
Mark well the human beings that you meet, 
Untutored by religion's gentle sway, 
Linger long with strangers that will greet, 
Enlighten you in their accustomed way ; 
Dwell in the hut of savage Hindoostan, 
Roam o'er the great primeval home of man; 
Inspire thy muse at the fount of Hipocrene; 
Visit Parnassus, view its golden height, 
Endure the realms of the bard's Holy scene, 
Remember all, and be a Beacon light. 



EARLY VANITIES. 151 



ON NAMING AN INVANT VIVIEN. 

SONNET TO VIVIEN. 

WE know not what we do when ere we name 
A new born infant yet, we guess, and fear, 

And hope its name will ever be held dear, 
And be inscribed upon the page of fame, 

And live long after is our faithful trust, 
That generations yet unborn with pride, 
Will point to some great deed or work beside, 

The marbled sepulchre that holds his dust, 
And yet, methinks, but not as has been said, ' 

But that there is much in the little word, 

A name, for after death it is but it revered, 
And not the one that sleepeth with the dead, 

But as the future cannot be forseen, 

We'll live and hope to praise the name " Vivien." 



152 EARLY VANITIES. 

To Bennet While in Prison. 







H ! must the feeble muse now sing. 
Of him who pines behind a grate 

Or must coeval silence bring, 
Opinion right of such a fate. 



There once was one would not forsake 

Philosophy he learned to love, 
E'en though the stake or the dungeon 

Stared at him — " Still the earth does move."* 



This was in olden times, but yet, 
The mystic god here still must be; 

And sense, and reason bow to it, 
Forsaking true philosophy. 

And he who fails to bow the knee, 
And glorify this fabled god, 

Must live in dark obscurity, 

And learn to kiss the tyrant's rod. 

Thou Bennet in a felon's cell! 

Than thine no purer heart hath been, 
Why is it thus that thou must dwell 

In prison with the dregs of men ? 



* Galileo, after being persecuted for discovering the revolu- 
tions of the earth, and made, by force, to recant, stamped his 
foot upon the earth and said — " Yet it moves ! ! " 



EARLY VANI1IE&. 153 

Let, vulgar dogmas pass for sense, 

Thy better reasoning all forsake, 
Abuse, for arguments e'er hence, 

In mocking " of Christ's blood partake." 

Be as the ancient Druids were, 

And imitate the Celtic feasts, 
To " Holy writ " do not demur, 

And be a vassal to the priests. 

Methinks I see you writhe in rage, 

Almost beyond your own control, 
And would j^refer to die in cage, 

Than quit convictions of thy soul. 

Thy silvered hair, thy bending form, 

There plow'd with time, and bow'd with care, 

For motives pure, and free from harm ; — 
Thy banishments too much to bear. 

To you, kind Bennet 'tis no shame, 

Man's conscience's what imprisons him, 

Confine him, still he's free the same, 
And pleasure's cup waits filled to him 

Torn from the bosom of your friends, 

For courting tenets justly fair, 
This will be sung, ere wisdom ends, 

By bards unborn — but I forbear. 



154 EARLY VANITIES. 

THE FATAL LEAP* 

THE wild birds shriek above their prey, 
Lodged in those rugged peaks, 
They fan the air most eagerly, 
To fill their hungry beaks. 

Two fair white faces turned to heaven, 
The vultures swarm around ; 

See what an awful chance has given, 
A feast but seldom found. 

The emblem of our country swoops 

Athwart the wide abyss, 
Its gorgeous eaglets swarm in groups, 

O'er the high precipice. 

The mountaineer, with eager tread, 
Climbs up the rugged mount, 

And there beholds the silent dead 
Beside a living fount. 

The old man gazed, too well he knew 
The slight, disseverd forms, 



* In 1860, my grandmother told me of a young wife whose 
first name was Luloh, at some place in Virginia, who became 
suddenly deranged, and wandered off to the mountains with 
her little four year old child, and leaped into one of those 
dreadful abysses. They were found by a hunter, by the pass- 
age of birds to the spot where they both lay. 



EARLY VANITIES. 155 

That lie before him steeped in dew, 
To feast the birds and worms. 

He hastened on through craters wide, 

High hung the clouds above, 
To speed the news on every side, 

Of those all knew to love. 

A mourning croud of many a score, 

Came clambering up the steep, 
In answer to the news he bore, 

Of Luloh's fatal leap. 

Alas ! alas ! the mourners throng 
The brink o' the mountain height, 

And gaze the rugged cliffs along, 
To see the woeful sight. 



156 EARLY VANIlim. 



TO THOSE EDITORS WHO CAN BEST 
UNDERSTAND IT. 

OH ! lusty sanctum, where infamous wit 
Is boosted by the aid of plodding tools, 
Where devils, printers, all must show their grit 
By proving that they are a set of fools, 
E'en though one fresh from Asbury schools, 
As bright as baubles from the sordid ore, 

For there he was as one of the foot-stools., 
Perhaps, is why he is not polished more, 
And, too, prepared to be a greater bore (if possible). 

Peacock, Peacock ! Oh ! glory what a name ! 

That well-known biped grows a glowing " tale," 
And he, too, is vain, beautiful, and game, 

And perches high upon his roosting rail, 

Spars, croaks while thus preparing for a sail, 
Then pitches from his summit with a bound, 

Borne by the tide of hyperborian gale, 
On, on, he goes but fluttering to the ground, 
While buzzards by the thousand swarm around. 



EARLY VANITIES. 157 



FOR WILLARD FINK, 



By request to write something for his affiance's Autograph 
Alburn. 



T 



HAT the face is fair, I am not doubting, 

Or that the rosy lips are pouting, 

For which I write, but then the graces, 

Glow not so smoothly in the line, 
When writing thus for absent faces, 

E'en tho' well prompted by ( ' The Nine "— 
It may be soon you'll seek to change 

Your name, now do not think me strange, 
And if you do think, think, and think 
You niisrht do worse than make it Fink. 



158 EARLY VANI1 IES. 



THE FATE OF THE BRIDE. 



FOUNDED ON FACTS. 



Dedication. —To her who holds the keys to my heaven on 
earth — to my wife — this poem is affectionately inscribed by 
the Author. 



EARLY VANITIES. 159 



AD VER TISEMENT. 

The following poem is founded on facts. The young lady 
represented as Jessica met her death on the evening of her 
marriage, in Fountain County, Ind., as described. She was 
an orphan child, and adopted by her aged grandparents. 
When she was quite small, and was the being in whom they 
centered their affections, she was given in marriage, at the 
age of sixteen, I believe, to a man by the name of Lawson 
(represented as Horace in the poem). It is said that the 
young lady, amid a life of social pleasure, would suddenly be- 
come despondent and gloomy, as her marriage day approached, 
and often intimated to her friends that something of a serious 
uature and unlooked for event was near at hand. On the 
evening of her marriage, at a late hour at night, a retinue of 
musicians went to serenade them. The members of the famih, 
as well as the bride and groom, had retired, and, after the ren- 
dition of two or three airs by the serenaders, the bride and 
■groom arose, dressed themselves, and stepped out upon the 
balcony at the north side of the house. The moon and star- 
light were beautiful. As the bride stejyped out she was greeted 
with applause, and, while she was thanking the guests for the 
music, there came a shrill " crash " as from a revolver or gun, 
and the young bride was seen to reel, throw up her hands, and 
fall into her husband's arms, who was standing just in the 
rear. The cause of the shot has always been a mystery. 
Whether on purpose, or the careless handling of a firearm, is 
still unknown, notwithstanding all efforts to ascertain. The 
missile struck the fair bride near the temple, tearing away 
almost the whole top of her head. The grief of the aged 
grand-parents, as well as the young husband, can be better 
imagined than described. This poem was hastily written, 
having been completed in two sittings. Will not my readers 
think strange of this, and say any plodding prose writer should 
have done it as well in one. 



160 EARLY VANITIES. 



SONNET TO JESSICA, 



THE pale wan lustre playing o'er the face, 
So arch, so lovely, so beset the woe 

Reflects thy heaven-born features in the glow 
Which seems the fair Hyperian seal of grace, 
Set by celestial hands, that will embrace 

Thy lovely form, and thou would'st have it so, 

For contemplation gently speaketh low, 
The things unspeakable, as we can trace, 

On thy fair cheek, and low depending eyes, 

That seems to see the dark clouds of despair, 
Hovering o'er thee, sorrowing thine air; 

And in thy bosom love, with sadness vies, 
And shows thee as thou art, so passing fair, 

That heart can love no more, howe'er it tries. 



w 



EARLY VANITIES. 161 



INTRODUCTION. 



" Oh ! snatched away in beauty's bloom, 

On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; 
But on thy turf shall roses rear 
Their leaves the earliest of the year; 

And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom." — Bykon. 



HEN" gentle gales convulse the glassy lake, 
And beams of fire glow through the mountain 
brake : 



When springtime adds enchantment to the scene, 
And robes the forest in her cloak of green : 

Then, then some potent spirit guides the eye, 
And holds it raptured as the hours pass by. 

The warbling minstrels of the airy sphere, 
Muse wild in throngs in all the beauty here. 

The lapwing perches on the highest bough, 
And seems to envy all the scenes below. 

The wild and double rose, the queen of flowers, 
The pride of summer decks the wild- wood bowers, 

Proud of its nature, lifts its glossy head, 
And pours forth fragrance from its floral bed ; 

Here nature lends with all her heavenly hues, 
A lesson that the eye cannot refuse, 



162 EARLY VANITIES. 

And reigns supreme in ev'ry fancy here, 
From dark oblivion to divinely fair. 

Yes, rosy Spring, in all her orient charms, 
Here seems to woo fair nature in her arms, 

When envious eyes gaze on the forest dight, 
In a rich verdant cassock fleck'd with light ; — 

Rays streaming from the luminary sphere, 
Which make the soft enchantment doubly dear. 

And far off through the dazzling woodland green 
A rural home amid these charms is seen ; 

All earth teems 'round it with a fair delight, 
And smiles the glories of a welcome sight, 

As twilight's mists of heaven stealing through 
In magic tints to bead each spray with dew. 

Fair spot of earth ; so picturesque and gay, 
When thus adorned by gentle balmy May. 

And where the lofty oak o'erlooks the lawn, 

And throws its welcome shades from break of dawn, 

And streaks the sward of grottoes deck'd with 

flowers, 
There oft two happy callers pass the hours. 

Blest spot of earth ; O, grant the heavenly muse, 
To dip her pencil in thy living dews. 



EARLY VANITIES. 163 



THE FATE OF THE BRIDE. 



[T is the time when lovers hear 
Sweet music in the sighing breeze, 
When ev'ry echo brings a tear, 

And ev'ry note is turned to please ; 

When ev'ry rose, and brambly gem, 
Appears to droop and bow to them, 

And ev'ry singer in the boughs, 
Seem to be envious of their vows ; 

They tune their tiny warbling throats, 
And pour forth pure ^Eolian notes. 

They sing their fairest canzonet, 
'Till Phoebus in the west has set. 

The Syren harps seem touched above, 
As pure hearts drink celestial love, 

When Vesta's virgin soul inspires 
Them with her fond, and chaste desires; 

It is the time when ev'ry rose 
Is lingering in a half repose, 

When ev'ry brook that ripples near, 
Appears to whisper in their ear, 

And silver dewdrops bead the spray, 
To gently glitter in the ray, 



104 EARLY VANITIES. 

And bend it o'er in lovelines, 
As if in one long fond caress ; 

When stars above all seem to meet, 
In the great ovaled ether sheet; 

When in the heav'ns a deeper blue, 
And in the rose a fairer hue ; 

When ev'iy fancy's blithe and gay, 
And cloudy visions fade away : — 

But what to them is the great world, 
With all its banners thus unfuiTd, 

With all its change of time and tide, 
To an expectant groom and bride ; 

The living things, the earth and skies, 
All fade before fond lover's eyes, 

Where e'er they go Apollo roves, 
In fields of clover, shades of groves, 

And Cupid's vows, and cunning arts, 
Toy gently with their fervent hearts ; 

They have no thought of gloom before, 
Their souls are brimm'd to flowing o'er 

With present pleasure, and to see, 
A glimpse of their futurity, 



EARLY VANITIES. 165 

In sudden gloom their hearts would swell, 
And make their paradise a hell ; 

But then 'tis well they cannot see, 
Thro' clouds that hide their destiny ; — 

They think they see an orient light, 
That is now curtained from their sight. 

To them a different iris beams, 
More lovely than is seen in dreams ; 

They dip into the future vast, 
The seeds of love before them cast, 

They see not, hear not, think not, 

The dark abyss toward which they move. 

They build their castles (in their mind) — 
No world to smile on them unkind, 

Their path before is strewn with flowers, 
They see but pleasure's sunny hours. 

They see all life a bridal boon, 
Their future one long honey-moon — 

Fond lovers' wails, and longing sighs, 
May oft be tokens in disguise, 

Of evils, that for them await, 
To poison pleasure's holy state ; — 



166 EARLY VANITIES. 

All heedless of the world are they, 
Of all beneath, below, above : 

The only words they care to say, 
Are blended with the vows of love. 

They part, but part to meet again, 
And yet that parting gives them pain. 

With many a lingering look they leave 
Their trysting place, but yet they grieve, 

They grieve as though all pleasure past, 
That parting were to be their last. 

So simple are true lovers' sighs, 
That child-like passions will reveal, 

In glances of their sparkling eyes, 
The ardent love they fein coneoal. 

The tacit language of the eyes, 
Oft tells a tale the tongue denies, 

And lovers' feelings thus imparted, 
Often leave them broken-hearted ; 

The flatt'ring tongue so often deals, 
In language that the heart ne'er feels, 

When mere pretended lovers sigh, 
And sullen tears bedim the eye, — 

When Jessica met Horace first, 

Their vows of love were then rehearsed, 



EARLY VANITIES. 167 

And all her soul was made to feel 
The love that leads to woe or weal. 

And Horace, too, was much impress'd: 
A love was seated in his breast. 

Asleep, of Jessica he dreamed, — 
Awake, of her his fancy teemed. 

Twas in the flow'ry month of May ; 
Oh ! glorious month. O, fatal day, 

When Horace wooed to claim his own, 
The fairest nymph in Fountain known. 

In love he pass'd the hours of day, 
In dreams he pass'd the night away. 

She was his being, and his pride, 
In all his fancy deemed — a bride. 

The vows were seal'd, and they must wed, 
And by those vows love's feast is spread, 

But as await a budding flower, 
She longing waits the fatal hour. 

The days pass'd slowly on, but yet, 
In all her longing was regret. 

Her lips could not express the kind 
Of troubles that possessed her mind, 



168 EARLY VANITIES. 



The day, the hour, was drawing nigh, 
When Horace was to share her fate, 

And melancholy pass'd her by, 

As nearer drew the marriage state. 

The guests were met, the table spread: 
The bridal chamber wreath'd in white: 

The happy moments swiftly sped 
In merry greetings of delight. 

No sister's smile the bride to cheer, 
No brother's voice to greet her ear, 

An orphan child — grand-parents' pride, — 
An orphan child, this fair young bride. 

This glowing month brings wealth of flowers, 
To more inspire love's dreamy hours; — 

The busy rippling brook that played 
Its murring music through the glade, 

Now seems to babble sweeter far 
Than e'er before, 'neath silent star. 

The half-blown roses, Nature's best, 
All wreath'd in bowers, neatly dress'd, 

In every tinge and glowing sheen, 
To add new lustre to the scene. 

Fair May, the mother month of flowers, 
The goddess of all beauty — ours 



EARLY VANITIES. 169 

To worship most of all, but lo, 
Forget not they must fade and go, 

And all the tints of Nature's dye 
Must pass too swiftly from the eye. 

How oft some careless foot may tread 
The fairy flower, scarcely half blown: — 

How oft the aged sire instead 
The little child is left alone. 

But heaven doeth all things well, 
And garners little buds from earth, 

Where they may bloom for e'er and dwell 
In meekness and in beauty's worth. 

God often snatches from its bower, 
A fairy rose, a budding flower, 

And as the twig goes to the tomb, 
The bud in heaven begins to bloom. 

The bride lifts her cerulean eyes, 
Half hid as long, brown lashes meet, 

And grace, with beauty, sweetly vies, 
As complimenting guests repeat. 

The low, dull lamps glow'd on the wall, 
Which caught the restless silhouettes: 

And dreams in future will recall 
These phantoms, roses, mignonettes. 



170 EARLY VANITIES. 



(A pause for seven weeks or more,* 
And how my heart aches to its core. 

A brother snatch 'd by death so grim, 
My darling boy then follows him. 

Our souls have almost lost their seat, 
Our hearts with sad afflictions beat. 

God, pity those thy hand bereave, 

And crown the ones for which they grieve. 

The fairest buds e'er to us given, 
Too tender for our earthly care, 

Are quickly snatched from earth to heaven. 
And bid to bloom forever there.) 



The flowing bowl where Bacchus slept, 
As Hymen 'rose, and Venus wept, 

Was pass'd around from lip to lip, 
Not one refused to drain or sip, 

* During this interval, my brother, A. N. Clodf elter, who 
was a brother in every sense of the word, died; and in twenty 
days from his death, our only and dear little boy, Byron Bur- 
dette, who was at his uncle's funeral in the bloom of health, 
followed him; age, 3 years, 7 months, and 28 days — thus con- 
firming the old maxim that "Trouble never comes single- 
handed." 



EARLY VANITIES. 171 

One time around, and then all pain 
Was eased, and so it went again, 

And round once more the waiters carry 
Till all the guests were growing merry ; 



The hour was nigh when bridesmaids led 
Fair Jessie to her bridal bed 



Her lineaments an aspect wore * 
That none had seen them bear before 

But none around knew what it meant, 
Yet, traced each troubled lineament. 

A gathering crowd to serenade, 
Assembled near the colonade, 

And scattered music far and wide 
In honor of the groom and bride, 

The pleasures of this wedding night, 
Lit the young groom's face with delight, 

The serenaders beat the ground, 

The health of flowing bowls went 'round, 

Fair fragrant flowers perfumed the place, 
And pleasure glow'd in ev'ry face ; 

The cresent moon shown o'er the hill, 
And yielded soft the babbling rill, — 

* The unknown event seemed to linger in her mind, amid all 
the gay circle of friends, and was recognized by all the guests. 



172 EARLY VANITIES. 

This silv'ry night seenx d to be sent, 
High from the milky firmament, 

In honor of the bride and groom ; — 
***** 

Yet heaven smiles upon a tomb; — 



Upon a grave that soon must be, 
And for a spirit pure and free, 

That soon must occupy a place, 

In mansions of the upper deep, 
With angel form, and seraph face, 

Where none are ever wont to weep. 

Loud rang; the merry music wild, 
For Jessica, the bride — the child, 

Up from bis couch did Horace glide, 
And Jessie soon was by his side ; 

Upon the balcony they stepped, 
Ah! little knew they of the fate, 

That in the nearing future slept; 
The sorrows that for them await. 

With eager eyes they quick survey, 

The must'ring crowd beneath their feet, 

And murmuring voices loud convey 

These words " The loving bride we greet." 



EARLY VANITIES. 178 

As there she stood,— in beauty's form — 
The music ceased as if a charm 

Had fallen from the mantled sky 
Upon each eager upturned eye, 

Her features drawn by love's own hand, 
Her cheeks are fleck'd with blushes rare; 

She seems not of this earth to stand, 
And view her face, it is so fair. 

Her lips like rubies, and her eyes 
Vie with the twinklers of the skies ; 

Her teeth half parted glow as white, 
As burnish'd iv'ry to the sight: 

Her locks in golden tresses fall 

In waves that charm the eyes of all, 

Thus she in bridal vest so bright, 
Of silk and gold, and soft sanite, 

Stood musing on the future vast, 
Whose shadows were before her cast, 

Sometimes she seems about to speak, 
With voice all tremulous and weak. 

She muses on the boundless sea 
Of love, and all that is to be ;— 

Her beauty hath enchanted heaven, 

And must go back from whence 'twas given. 



174 EARLY VANITIES. 

We gaze on them thrice happy pair, 
Who were just pledg'd thro' life to share 

The sorrows that all mortals meet, 
And all the balms of pleasure sweet; 

To cheer in health and sickness too, 
As they their married lives pursue. 

To them this ardent love was given, 
Avow'd on earth, and sealed in heaven. 

Domestic happiness and bliss, 
Must sure await such love as this. 

Their hearts, their beings truly blend, 

And close united in one fate, 
They stand, each ready to descend, 

Or rise, to equalize their state. 

Esteem enlivened by desire, 

When love exerts her gentle sway, 

Enkindles in the breast a fire, 
To burn unquenchable for age. 

To sever those who love as these, 

Oh ! where, oh, where would hearts find ease, 

'Twould not be in this world I know, 
For it would be a world of woe. 

So long as the lone heart would beat, 
It could not find a kind retreat; 



EARLY VANITIES. 175 

Unthroned in being and in state, 
When once deprived of all you love, 

You live to mourn your mortal fate, 
And place your hopes in realms above. 

The light that plays around her brow 

Unveils the beauty in her eyes, 
Tho' they are wand'ring earthward now, 

Her soul is fix'd sure for the skies. 

As pure as bright Aurora's ray, 
Her face shows o'er the balustrade, 

A wreath of fairest flowers of May, 
Beside her there would seem to fade; 

The heart would melt before her smile, 
It is so pure, and free from guile. 

She seems to be a thing divine, 
(Fit inspiration of my line.) 

All earthly objects fade to sight, 
To see her in the soft starlight. 

Felt Jessica her fate was near ? 
She bore the pain with hidden fear. 

Some signal long beamed in her eye,* 
And told her that she soon must die. 



*In the language of Campbell, "And coming events cast 
their shadows before," it is said that this young bride had pre- 
dicted that something of a serious nature was to happen to her, 
and that she grew gloomy and despondent as her marriage day 
approached; yet she was devotedly attached to her suitor. 



176 EARLY VANITIES. 

She smiling neared the latticed door, 

And thanked the guests for music given, 

O'erlooking all the crowd before, 
And everything was still as heaven. 

There came a shrill explosive crash, 
Led by a bright and vivid flash, 

All breasts were fill'd with sad alarms, 
When Jessica in all her charms, 
Sank bleeding in her husband's arms : 

One struggle, just one struggle more, 
A heaving sigh, and all was o'er, 
There, there, she lay in crimson gore, 
Fast bleeding on the chamber floor. 

How could such deathly missile light, 
And tear the face so fair and bright, 

But there, before his staring eyes, 
His dying wife all mangled lies ; 

The face that once enchanted heaven, 
A wand'nng missile now has riven; 

And leaning o'er his dying wife, 

Young Horace heaved a broken sigh^ 

Then sinking fell as if his life 

Would with her spirit pass on high. 

Insensible there side by side 

Lay Horace and his bleeding bride. 



EARLY VANITIES. 177 

On Jessica smiles heaven now, 
And softly smooths her pallid brow, 

Perfection reigned on earth in thee 
To our frail eyes, we cannot see, 

How God can purify thee more, 
To mould thy gentle spirit o'er. 

Young Horace heaved a broken sigh, 

And troubled blood coursed through his veins, 

He gave one loud heart-rending cry, 
While gazing at her scattered brains. 

The sight had made him ghastly wild, 
His eyes were fixed, he turned, and smiled, 

Upon his wife's cold, mangled form, 
Which now was past all power to warm : 

Oh ! had you heard his wailing cry, 
You would have wished to see him d 

But oh! the sorrow he escapes, 

By phrensy seizing on his brain, 
Grim phantasies in many shapes 

Make him unconscious of his pain, 

He knows but momentary now, 
A flush of sorrow paints his brow ; 

He's now between the gulf and bay, 
Of reason, and insanity, 



te. 



178 EARLY VANITIES. 



But that he could regain his mind, 
And be unto his grief resigned, 

But this is proof of love sincere, 

Love that had grown but doubly dear : — 

And here the aged dame and sire, 
Sank o'er the form as to expire, 

And all that there behold the scene, 
Wore faces of a troubled mien, 

Oh ! how their flutt'ring hearts did ache : 
This cruel stroke near made them break, 

Tears had no issue, words no sound, 
All notes in wailing grief were drown'd, 

Oh! sorrows glorious! when adorned, 
By virgin innocence, they make 

Pleasures in others seem deform'd, 

And hearts cease beating ere they break. 

What torments hide in gentle hearts, 
Fast feeding on the mind for years 

Unseen, but felt, their throbbing smarts, 
Till pining anguish forces tears. 

Tears are a balm to broken hearts, 

A gentle medicine to grief, 

That finally will bring relief, 
And heal the wound that pain imparts. 



EARLY VANITIES. 179 

And when oppress'd by sorrows deep, 
Oh ! who would stop the rising tear ? 

It taps the cup of woe to weep, 

And makes deep sorrows doubly dear. 

Life is a bubble borne along, 

Upon the ling'ring waste of time, 

O'er high and low uneven wave, 

It goes in mirth, in grief, in song, 
Oppress'd, caress'd, in grace sublime, 

Until it bursts, just o'er a grave, 

And flees from sorrows' surging pain, 
Where time is not a ceaseless plain, — 

Our lives are like an Autumn rose, 

That opens to the morning sky, 
For ere the mists of even close 

Upon it, it begins to die. 

We live in thoughts, not years, in deeds, 
Our time is mark'd by one so firm : — 

For generations sow the seeds. 

And thence we go unto the worm ; — 

Not us, but what we see of man, 

For he himself returns on high, 
We think, we ponder, when we scan, 

This bubble with bewildered sigh. 

There is a place where spirits meet, 
That saturate our forms of clay ; 



180 EARLY VANITIES. 

There is a port of rest to greet 
The wayworn traveler for aye. 

Then what is death that we may dread 
One moonless night, and where are we ? 

We make in earth our endless bed, 
And then our spirit goes forth free. 



Age plays upon the infant's face, 

And pays it with but smould'ring dust; 

And he who lives his youth in grace, 
And in high heaven puts his trust, 

Will find an early resting place. 

And such was Jessica's belief — 

Her heart in youth to God was given, 

So angels brought her quick relief. 

And ope'd for her the gates of heaven ; 

And in the cold and cavern'd tomb, 
Where she is laid to sleep forever, 

Lie buried hearts embalmed with gloom, 
And tied to her too strong to sever. 

And when the stars have ileck'd the sky, 
And moon lit up the canopy, 

A mystic form appears to steal * 



* The bereaved husband, it is said, has often been seen at 
her grave at night, weeping over all that was dear to him. 



EARLY VANITIES. 181 

Beside Jessica's tomb, 
And o'er it then it seems to kneel, 
In silence and in gloom. 

And ev'ry soft and gentle gale, 

Bears with it some deep mourner's wail; 

And ev'ry branch, and ev'ry leaf, 
Seems stamp'd with an eternal grief; 

The lily droops its head and fades, 
There in the silent cypress shades ; 

Till watered by celestial tears, 
It then revives, and gently rears, 

The bleeding heart, and lilac blooms 
There, there among a thousand tombs, 

To catch the dews, the tears of heaven, 
That angels shed at starry even. 

And there young Horace weeps above 
The dust that he so long will love, 

And pines, and mourns himself away, 
From night until the break of day, 

In ev'ry bramble is her name, 
Engraven to his eye the same, 

And ev'ry gentle, balmy breeze, 

That whistles through the cypress trees, 



182 EARLY VANITIES. 

Speaks sweetly of her as it flies, 
In gentle wailing, mourning sighs ; 

The warbling minstrel of the boughs, 
That heard her seal her marriage vows, 

Sits o'er the grave to vigils keep, 

And with young Horace seems to weep ; 

Upon the twig it tunes its throat, 
Pours forth its most sedative note, 

And he who listens to its song 
Lingers, and lingers with it long; 

And often may be seen a pair,* 

Steal o'er her grave to shed their tears, 

Upon whose brows the seal of time, 
Has stamp'd them with declining years, 
And fleck'd and silvered up their hair, 

As frost beads up the sward sublime. - 

They there caress the dust they love, 
And live, but live in hopes above ; 

They have an interest now iu heaven, 

They never felt they had hefore, 
And have had since that fatal even, 

That death came wand'ring thro' their door. 

* It is said that the aged grand-parents pay parental respect 
to the memory of her who was so dear them, by frequent visits 
to her grave. 



EARLY VANITIES. 183 

Their falling tears their thin cheeks lave, 
And sprinkle o'er fair Jessie's grave. 

They long to lie there, side by side, 
Where sleeps the young and gentle bride. 

And there they'll ever steal to weep, 
Till wrapp'd in death's eternal sleep. 



The name "Jessica" is an assumed name, appropriated 
from Shakespeare, as the real name of the bride was not 
adapted to metre, more especially to octosyllabic verse. 



184 EARLY VANITIES. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO SI-OUS-KA. 



The base on which the following poem is founded, is from 
pen-sketch by L. M. Stowell. 



Dedication. —To my brother, M. E. Clodf elter, to whom I 
am indebted for early advice and training, and who is capable 
of appreciating the wild-wood scenery I have attempted to de- 
scribe, this poem, Si-ous-ka, is affectionately inscribed by the 
Author. 



EARL T VANITIES. 185 



SI-OUS-KA, OR THE WILD-FLOWER. 



Nothing is lost on him who sees 
With an eye that genius gave ; 

For him there's a story in every breeze, 
And a picture in every wave. — Moore. 



SIOUSKA in her spacious tent, 
Amid a wild and dreary land, 
" Sat like a fate," alone content, 

To think of whom to give her hand. 
Beneath the waving wigwam spread, 
Her dainty tapered lingers wound 
The filmy, silken, rapid thread, 
There on the ground. 

Her voice rang out upon the air, 

In happy mood, fair nature's child, 
As if she never dreamed of care, 
Within the wild. 

The thrushes seem to join her song, 

The boughs nod gently to the breeze, 
A kind of medley rings along, 
Through forest trees. 

Beneath yon swaying oak tree where 

The poison ivies clamber o'er, 
The children of the woods are there, 
A dusky score. 



186 EARLY VANITIES. 

And every wind that dallies by, 

But bears, some wild- wood voice along: 
A shriek, a yell, a boisterous cry, 
Or pleasant song. 

The purpling hills melt in the light, 

Before Siouska's hazel eyes, 
Though wild she gazes with delight, 
At nature's dyes. 

Her step is light as the gazel, 

While treading o'er the ambered moss- 

O'er wood, and bramble, hill and fell, 

And up, and down, along the dell, 

She sees her lover cross. 



And there amid these lonely hills, 

She sings her sweetest madrigalls ; 
And the sweet voices of the rills, 
And music from the warbler's bills, 
Blend as the curlew calls. 

Sweet huntress of the forest wild, 
Why came you here, you lovely child ? 

And there Siouska stole away, 

To meet the brave Oneida chief, 
Where wild-wood nature holds her sway, 
And beautifies each leaf. 

There, there encircled by fair flowers, 
And hills, and dales, and woods around, 




Her step is light as the gazel 

While treading o'er the ambered moss— 
O'er wood, and bramble, hill and fell, 

And up, and down, along the dell, 
She sees her lover cross. 



EARLY VANITIES. 187 



Tell me if more inspiring hours, 
Were ever found. 



There kneeling down before his love, 
To clasp the hand he hopes to claim, 

While silence lists, and seals above, 
Their more endearing flame. 

The birds they warble sweet above, 

Each floweret seems to clasp its mate, 
As gentle zephyrs sigh their love, 
And happy state. 

What's that breaks in upon the ear ? 
It is the curlew drawing near, 
It seems to pipe its clarion note, 
For them alone, and tunes its throat, 
For those inspiring wild- wood strains, 
That sends a thrill thro' lovers' veins. 



Their trysting place, their trysting place, 

Adown beneath the slanting hill, 
Where weaving ivies interlace 

With creeping vines above the rill, 
And reeds and flowers grow down beneath, 
And deck the wild and glowing heath, 

And vipers rustle in the weeds, 
As antler'd deer leap by with grace, 

And panthers prowling thro' the reeds, 
Are welcomed to their trysting place. 



188 EARLY VANITIES. 

Th' Oneida chief ! O, he must lead, 

Thro' life with him this wild-wood flower, 

E'en though some heart may burst and bled, 
Her troth is sure pledged from this hour. 

And there in silence, and in tears, 

Love's murmur ringing through their ears, 

Oneida, cries the forestere, 
Oh ! come with me, and we will go, 

And hunt alone the fallow deer, 
And kill the bison and the roe ; 

And near the lake I'll pitch a tent, 
And take thee home to be my mate, 

And if thou wilt not thus consent, 
Go, weep my fate. 

She stood aghast ! faint murmurs broke ; 
Words came at last — she gently spoke. 

" "Where is my father," as she leant 
Upon her lover's arm, " Oh where, 

I must away for his consent, 
Before I can with thee repair." 

Away she goes through bush and thorn, 
Her heart is heaving in her breast — 

She'll dream of him until the morn, 
And take her rest. 

Oh ! halcyon love in such a waste, 
Elysium's joy, that few can taste. 

The sun goes down behind the slope, 
And throws its streams of light along; 



EARLY VANITIES. 189 

In ev'ry ray she sees a hope, 

And hears of love in ev'ry song. 



Upon her thatch of leaves she lay, 

The music breathing from the wild, 
As the fair zephyrs seem to play, 
Auditory with the dark locks so gay, 

Of this lone Indian child. 
Oh ! call her beautiful and gay, 
Or call her, call her what you may, 
She is as beautiful as day, 
When no dark cloud obscures the sky, 
And nature's tints doth please the eye ; 
Her raven locks, her dainty dress, 
To which neglect adds loveliness. 



The bow that spans her hazel eye, 
The artist's brush it would defy, 
As sits she half inclined to sigh ; 
Bending forward, lips apart, 
Her mind is tempered by her heart, 
Her gently tapered fingers drew, 
Her flowing locks of deepest hue, 



With downcast eyes, her finger tips 
She places on her mellow lips : — 
Oh ! if the kind of Paradise, 

Would perch upon its bending bough 
Beside her, it would not entice, 

The eyes that gaze upon her now; 



190 EARLY VANITIES. 

Its golden plumage, dainty dress. 
Would fade in all its loveliness : — 
She crosses now the wilderness — 
In a deep reverie — she feels, 
The burning of a thousand weals, 
And in her barken hammock swing,* 

Beneath the hawthorn where she lay 
In quiet musing, there among, 

The flying leaves, that round her play 
While falling from the trees — 

She feels 
A drowsiness that o'er her steals, 
A kind of slumber, and she thinks, 

Her lover down beside her kneels, 
As into sweet repose she sinks, 
She feels a kiss upon her lips, 
A pressure of her finger tips, 
In sweet compassion ; is her mind, 
Though peopled with such thoughts refined, 
In a deep rhapsody, while keeps 
The hawthorn's vigil as she sleeps 
So placidly ? — 

But then a change, 
Comes o'er her, and it is not strange, 
That love should leave its gentle trace, 
Upon the lovely outline of such a face. 
Oh ! placid sleep ! sweet harbinger 

* My grandfather Sayler, who was in seventeen different 
States, and always went on foot, tells me that a swing or ham- 
mock made out of bark was common among the Indians and 
often they were used for beds for the wounded or afflicted. 



EARLY VANITIES. 191 

Of thought, when with it rosy dreams 
Steal thro' our minds, a messenger, 

More welcome than sweet Morpheus seems ; 
A heaven on this earth of ours, 

In sweet repose, when we can see 
Love's happenings, Cashmerian flowers, 

And all things more inspiring; we 
Then seem to hold the keys to heaven, 

When Hesperus doth steal above, 
And peeps down thro' the branches riven 

By its own light, upon the face of love. 



192 EARLY VANITIES. 



i 



PART THE SECOND. 



HEN every charm of nature dies, 
And melts as wax before our eyes, 
Poor creatures, we, I can but say, 
It is our time to pass away. 

Go, seek the flower within the vale, 

That grows where tame feet never trod, 
And drink its fragrance from the gale, 

And muse on nature as on God. 
For there we see this great design, 

All uadisturb'd, fresh from the mould; 
Its perfectness is shaped so fine, 

It never, never, can grow old. 

Oh ! lovely nature still I gaze 

Upon thee with a poet's eye, 
Thy works, and all thy blooming maze, 

I pass them not without a sigh, 
From charm, to charm, my fancy goes, 

To mountain, valley, hill, or dale ; 
Thy calmness in thy sweet repose, 

And whisperings in each flying gale; — 
I never feel a bliss so pure, 

As when I stray thro' some lone dell, 
Or solitary woods, secure 

From all things tame, there could I dwell 



EARL Y VANITIES. 193 

And make my friendship, in the wild, 

With birds, and beasts, and gentle flowers; 

Oh ! then would I be reconciled, 
To my sweet paradise the hours, 

The luckless hours, I now pass by, 
Would turn to joy, I know not why. 

Oh ! gracious God ! Oh ! gracious King ! 

. Still let my soul be wrapped in Thee, 
I cannot cease thy worshipping 

While thy own perfectness I see. 
And my poor soul must pity him 

Who walketh thro' this wild-wood waste, 
And sees not beauty when each limb 

Above in network's interlaced; 
And feathery minstrels are awake, 

And pour sweet music from above ; 
My heav'n there, and I betake 

To my own nature, 'tis to love 
Such pleasant things, and I would give 
My all, were it but mine to live, 

Where these the wanton eyes of mine, 

Could always drink this sight divine, 

Within such Paradise I'd be, 

A part of it, and it of me. 

There is more beauty in the hill, 

More grandeur in the towering mountain, 

When downward pours some rippling rill, 
Or bubbling out comes some clear fountain, 

Than all the handiwork of man 

Combined in this one little span 



194 EARL Y VANITIES. 

Of the Great King, when in the clouds, 
The highest peaks seem wrapped in shrouds. 

Oh ! could I gain that highest peak, 
My fancy sees, and stand upon 

Its very brink, and gaze and speak 
To each dear crag till early dawn ; 

Methinks it is the Angel's home, 

Where spirits live, and Seraphs roam, 

And as I thro ? the vistas gaze, 

My soul is wrapped within the maze, 

Of grandeur, and seems to forsake 
Its tenement — the curdling blood 

Flows to my head — my form doth quake, 
While gazing where some monarch stood, 

In days gone by, and there I see, 
Far«out on a projecting crag, 

Wave too and fro some stately tree, 
Beneath it the lone mountain stag; 

And as it waves there to and fro, 

Above the thousand feet below, 

I feel my feebleness to unite 

The grandeur of this gorgeous sight. 

There in those hills Siouska dwelt, 
She spoke to each dear crag, and felt 
A love that she could not forsake 
For all there in the mountain brake; 
The light of her own soul commands, 
And in the floating clouds she stands, 
Oft times beside some cozy cave, 
And by the statelv trees that wave, 



EARLY VANITIES. 195 

Obedient to her wish and will, 
And wantonly a winding rill, 
She follows with unerring tread, 
By hanging moss, and flow'ry bed, 
To a high brink where it doth fall 
Into a tarn of many feet, 
And its sweet dazzling waves inthrall 
Her very soul, as she doth meet 
Its cooling waters. 

Placid stream ! 
Direct me to thy winding source, 

For on thee play, the bright sunbeam, 
That rules the day, thy unknown course, 

But typifies my life, betimes 
Thou seemest to be mournful — sad — 

Unspeakably ; and then the chimes, 
Of thy own murmur make me glad. 

Thou stream unmindful of thy fate, 

But followest thy slow descent, 

Adown through many a battlement, 
To the high precipice that wait, 

Thy coming, but the wild flower's tread, 
Hast followed thy bright shore anon, 

So on the boiling waters led 
While seething falls did round her yawn ; 

Yet on, and on, she followed thee, 

And claimed thy friendship to the sea, 
" Thou art a mirror, oh ! calm stream, 

Reflecting back my life — you tell 
Me of mv future, and doth seem 



196 EARLY VANITIES. 

To know how my faint heart doth swell, 
Betimes when I am sad — amiss — 
She sings a gentle song like this : — 

" Through the crannies of the mountain, 

From the lofty peaks above, 
Pours a pure and purling fountain, 

Such as artists could but love. 

" When I gaze at it descending, 

In its sparkling merry glee, 
Seems it whispering commending, 

Weary sister, sip from me. 

" I flow thro' the recesses, 
Of the lofty mountain steeps, 

And linger round my cresses, 
Where the ivy o'er me creeps. 

" I bubble o'er my pebbly bed, 

In rippling merry waves, 
And cool Siouska's aching head, 

When on my bank she laves. 

" I see thee, and murmur as I go, 

Ado wn my lonely valley, 
Where mossy banks just o'er me grow 

And thou canst watch me sally. 

" I linger thro' my lone ravine, 
Where rustling wolves are heard, 



EARLY VANITIES. 197 

And loiter where the fox is seen, 
That digs his hole unscared. 



" I wander thro' my lonely copse, 
Beneath the old oak's quiver, 

Sometimes I am but little drops, 
At other times a river. 



" I help to fill the briny sea, 
Where sailors o'er me boat ; — - 

I feed the monsters down in me, 
As round and round they float. 

" I rise from this deep, angry foam, 

To misty clouds above, 
And with them oft I gently roam, 

And live the life I love. 



" I hie me to my native mountain, 

And sink into the earth, 
Then flow out through my mother fountain, 

In the same glad, joyful mirth. 

" Thus I go on from year to year, 

Through lonely wildernesses, 
Receiving oft the redman's tear, 

As he stoops and me caresses. 

" The gusty winds congeal my crest, 
Cold, torpid, free from motion, 



198 EARLY VANITIES. 

Then, then I take my tranquil rest, 
Before I reach the ocean. 

" Yes, winter storms do case me nice, 

I'm oft a bridged river, 
With silvery sheets of crystaled ice, 

Where wild men sport and shiver." 



And here the brooklet ceased its song, 
Poor timid girl she'd lingered long, 
Amid the tarns, and peaks, and vales, 
Inhaling the sweet mountain jzales. 



She'd wander'd there while daylight held 
The vault above, and her heart swell'd 
Within her — the insatiate hope 
Would come and go, and thus to cope 
With her own feelings were a task 
Beyond attainment — but to bask 
Beside the stream; and o'er the hill, 
With nimble feet where'er she will, 
Were a sweet privilege, for there 
Her life was a day-dream so fair. 

The last sunbeam has ceased to play 
Upon the mountain side; no ray 
Is to be seen, and still she lingers 
Above the mere, as the sweet singers 
Of the lone night lull her to sleep, 
And o'er her a lone vigil keep. 



EARLY VANITIES. 199 

Oil ! nightingale, that singest, 

Upon the topmost bough, 
Wee, philomel, thou bringest 

To ray mind the vow, 
We pledged in solitude while thy lone flight thou 
wingest. 

Thou, bird, art not of earth, 

Thy wings seem clipped for heaven, 

But we know well thy worth 
In song, for it were given 
Seals for lovers' vows that they might ne'er be riven. 

Who knows of what thou speaketh, 

As thou warblest fair, 
But then my soul it seeketh, 
And findeth lodgment there, 
Which makes me understand thy words, and feel 
thy care. 

Yet, bird so high above me, 

Thou lookest a mere speck, 
But Oli ! my heart it loves thee, 

Although it be a wreck, 
All shattered by the pangs for him that ever moves 
me. 



Oh ! singer I beseech thee, 

Wilt thou never weary, 
But could I only teach thee, 

To leave this place so dreary, 
And in the heavens join a place less solitary. 



200 EARLY VANITIES. 

Thou sittest all alone, 



Beyond the reach of danger, 
On your mountain throne, 
And singest to a stranger, 
That loves thee best of all, thou solitary ranger. 

And as you warble there, 

Bathed in the misty blue, 
Oh ! were Oneida here, 

His troth would be more true, 
Pledged 'neath thy gentle cadences so very dear. 



And here she sank into a rhapsody, 
Lulled by the nightingale's sweet melody, 
As high upon a rough and jagged steep, 
She fell into a calm and quiet sleep, 
Where Flora's hand had gently strewn flowers, 
And woven them into sweet mountain bowers, 
And the plum'd Dryad of the bending bough, 
Pours forth his melodies inspiring now : — 
There as she lay upon her thatch of flowers, 
Enjoying well the cool Elysium hours, 
The pale old moon came riding o'er the plane, 
In her chaste dress, and lit the mountain chain, 
In streams of light thrown through the shim'ring 
air. 

Thou Princess of the night, thou, Luna fair, 
Glide silently thro' dark and fleecy cloud, 
Which covers the arched sky as with a shroud. 



EARLY VANITIES. 201 

The moon hung low, the stars were peeping through 

Each floating cloud, and poured their gentle ray, 
For her alone, whose eyes of melting blue, 
Were drinking the wan light there as she lay 
Upon a high projecting crag that swung 
Far out o'er deep oblivious gulfs — among 
Deep chasms in the broad, and aery rocks, 
Forever unexplored — Yawn in the glow 
Of this fair Princess — oft detached blocks 

Of massy weight go thundering swift below, 
Leaving behind a chasm dark and broad, 
To be replaced but by the hand of God. 
And mighty trees that stretch their giant arms 
O'er the dark caverned base, rock'd by the storms, 
Bend in a graceful loveliness, and there 
The sounding step of the Oneida Chief, 
Comes gently on the silent mountain air — 

He steals on tiptoe like some watchful thief, 
Toward Siouska's wild-wood couch — Oh ! there, 
He gazes on a form more passing fair, 
Than longing eyes had ever yet beheld; 
And his poor heart within him heaved and swelled, 
While gazing at her gentle tresses play, 
And toy with each gale there as she lay, 
Upon her mountain bed : Oh ! 'twere a sight, 
That life in high estate might envy quite : — 
Up to her couch so quietly he steals, 
And by her side so silently he kneels, 
That he can hear the throbbings of the heart, 
Which beats for him, and pleasantly impart, 
That which she would conceal, but her soft eyes, 
Are opened wide beneath the starry skies; — 
A kind of shudder quivered thro' her veins. 



202 EARLY VANITIES. 

A shriek and sigh rang o'er the lofty plains, 

But quick subdued when her bright eyes discover, 

Beside her bending her own ardent lover, 

And thus he spoke — " My own belov'd mate, 

Why come you here unmindful of your fate 

On this projecting crag — a little move 

This way or that, and then oh ! then my love, 

Would be no more, oh ! come, oh, come with me 

To yonder table land, and green-wood tree," 

"Oh ! leave me till the morrow thus," she cries, 

But sees a longing hidden in his eyes, 

For a more binding pledge. " My Wildwood Flower 

Here on this very brink, this moonlit hour, 

Tell me our hearts may blend, and live, and be 

In one sweet concord of love's unity.'' — 

" Here is my hand, my heart, my all," she cries, 
'Tis yours, Oneida, yours, accept the boon, 

I pledge again beneath the starry skies, 
And witness it you the chaste and silvery moon." 






EARL Y VANITIES. 203 



PART THE THIRD. 



THE moon has silvered up the hill, 
The clarion of the owl is still, 
The deep bay of the howling wolf, 
Comes curdling from the gloomy gulf; 
The growling bear, the screaming cat, 
The lapwing, and the darting bat, 
All live in close communion, when 
They are pursued by savage men. 

And here within this wild- wood waste, 
The Onondaga Chief makes haste; 
Beside him wheels the timid hare, 
Before him rears the stately bear, 
He glares upon his fearful foe, 
And nears him as he draws his bow ; 
One quick rebound, one ringing twang, 
His side is pierced, he feels the pang, 
One loud unearthly scream rang out, 
From the wild bear and then a shout, . 
Came from the Indian, as to say, 
" We meet for mast'ry in the fray,'' 
A* second, third, and fourth, vain dart, 
Is aimed to pierce old bruins heart ; 
But ere a fifth he could replace, 
They meet in combat face to face, 
His dagger from his leathern belt 



204 EARLY VANITIES. 

Is snatched, but not before he felt 
The breath of this great forest king, 
That knows no master (weltering), 
He pluck'd his knife from bruin's side, 
The blood came flowing like a tide, 
But ere he makes the second wound, • 
His dagger falls upon the ground ; 
The Wild Chief sees his fate, but then, 
Resolves to die like other men, 
Brave to the last, and not a sigh, 
He breathes as on the ground they lie. 

Beside he hears a gentle tread, 
A hatchet waves above his head, 
The blow ! and bruin sinks alone, 
Upon the ground without a groan, 
His life was spared ! he was content, 
To point Oneida to a tent, 
Whither their turning feet were bent. 

They entered thro' the narrow door, 

Not by one brave was sentence spoken. 
Till from her thatch upon the floor, 

Siouska rose, her spell was broken; — 
The great and brave Oneida Chief, 
Spoke in a voice, half joy, half grief, 
" Siouska, go my fair young Flower, 

Into the tent with him you love, 
Your father's tribe will grow in power, 

And you yourself be crowned above." 

She listened to his kind appealings, 



EARLY VANITIES. 205 

Her heart stung with a thousand feelings, 
And as she raised her large dark eyes, 
Her looks were tinctured with surprise; 
So fair, through all her natal years, 
And still "how lonely in her tears; 
And then the marriage song was sung, 
In which Siouska's sweet voice rung — 
The modern belle 'd be loth to hide, 
The witcher y of this wild-wood pride : — 
And here before his love he feels, 
'Tis not idolatry, and kneels. 

With downcast eyes, and fluttering heart, 

The father and the daughter part; 

All breathing nature 'round them bloom'd," 

Diffused in hearts that love entomb'd ; — 

A sweeter carol now was heard, 

Than e'er before, from every bird. 

With nimble feet through forest brake, 
Oneida and his mate doth take 
Their lonely course to share one home, 
And o'er the wilds together roam. 

Oneida was so fleet of limb, 

That all day long he'd chase the roe, 

Without fatigue when none but him, 

Could thro' the marsh, and brambles go. 

Oneida when his bow he drew, 
Upon a deer, a deer he slew ; 



206 EARLY VANITIES. 

A hawk upon a distant limb, 

Two hundred yards would fall to him. 

His fatal dart with such winged force, 
Flew through the bison in its course, 
And left him dying on the ground, 
Far short of where his dart was found, 

He'd shoot the antlered buck before him,* 
With such fleetness, fifty paces, 

Ere the first dart reached to gore him, 
Two more followed in their places. 

He was so strong of arm and shoulder, 
That he'd hurl with force a boulder, 
Of ten pounds just as defiant 
As the great Anakim Giant : — 



Weeks and months had passed away, 
And brought new happiness each day ; — 
Oh ! what kind inspirations bless, 
Fond lovers in a wilderness. 



A light came in their home one morn, 
To which their fond affections drew, 



* My grandfather informed rne that he had seen them shoot 
so rapidly in succession, that even the third dart would be on 
its way to the target at fifty yards ere the first one had reached 
it. 



EARLY VANITIES. 207 

'Twas little Ulla-Ulla born, 
A little son so fair and new. 

Both fondled him, their idol's joy, 

Their little Ulla-Ulla boy, 

And prayed to Waltewah to spare, 

Their little one from ev'ry care; 

'Twas little Ulla-Ulla there, 

'Twas little Ulla-Ulla here; 

Each little trinket and each toy, 

Was laid away with fervent joy; 

He was a bright-eyed little son, 

A sly and timid little one. 

Months rolled along, and fast he grew, 

'Till the Indian tongue he could construe, 

And then they gazed with fonder joy, 

At the father's image in the boy. 

He stretches forth his little hands, 

His heart doth flutter with winged joy, 

To meet his father as he stands 

Before him — " Come, my little boy." 
In Indian tongue was e'er the welcome given:— 



The childless cherubs from above, 

Might envy such a vaulted heaven, 
On earth that's flavored with such love. 



208 EARLY VANITIES. 



D 



PART THE FOURTH. 



AYS, months, and years had pass'd away, 

Before arrived the fatal day, 

That Eagle Eye had formed the dart, 

He'd nursed to pierce .Oneida's heart; 

His cowardly breast dared not reveal 

The malice it so long did feel, 

Nor could he slake his treacherous grief, 

By vengeance on the Oneida Chief. 

He laid his war-knife gently by, 
But still resolved the chief must die, 
Yet dared not meet him face to face, 
Lest he would seal his own disgrace. 



And now 'tis time that they betake 
Themselves unto the Northern Lake, 
Their annual tour to hunt and fish, 
And lay in store their fav'rite dish. 

They take their birchen bark canoes, 
Their bows well strung, their quivers filled, 
And leave before the morning dews, 
Have left the leafless spray unchilled. 

They leave their summer's hunting ground, 
To pass to a more frigid clime, 



EARLY VANITIES. 209 

Where best of "scaly fry " is found, 
And waters never cease their chime. 

They pass the dreary Dismal Swamp,* 
" Where all day long the " fire-fly lamp '' 
Is ne'er extinguished, and they see 
Glass'd in it many a destiny.f 

The water lilies seem to bloom, 

And thrive within this filthy place, 

And, sprinkled o'er it, shed a gloom, 
That blends in filth to lovely grace. 



Thee, little flower so chill and damp, 
That grows within this Dismal Swamp, 

Of thee I sing. 
This stagnant pool how can it be, 
The parts and elements of thee, 

Thou lovely thing ? 

II. 

Thee, gentle flower so lovely grown, 

* The tribes of Indians here described were not confined to 
New York ; but the Virginias, Cardinas, and Pennsylvania 
were also their hunting grounds and native lands. 

t It is stated, by good traditional authority, that some of the 
Indians claimed to be possessed of a power to look into the 
waters of the swamp and see the destiny of themselves and 
friends. They would even frequent the place before taking a 
hunt to know something of the result. 



210 EARLY VANITIES. 

Oh ! Water Lily fully blown, 

Why are you here; 
Where slimy hissing vipers, meet, 
Beneath your fragrant tendrils sweet, 
And you so dear ! 



in. 



Oh ! could I see thee, on yon hill, 
Or by some gently flowing rill, 

Or any place, 
Except this filthy poison pool, 
That glow-worms haunt and vipers rule, 

Thee, flower of grace. 



IV. 



Methought you shed your purple bloom, 
And fillVl the air with sweet perfume, 

Like Flora's child. 
But to my sorrow here I find, 
A treach'rous flower a bitter kind, 

Fair but defiled.* 



There never was a place so rare, 
For its repulsiveness but lent, 

A line of beauty glowing there, 
To eyes of the intelligent. 



* There are two or three sorts of these aquatic plants, some 
have unusually beautiful flowers. They grow in marshy, stag- 
nant pools, and some kinds are very fragrant while the finest 
blossomed ones of a different class are offensive. 



EARLY VANITIES. 211 

No spot of earth was e'er so fair, 

But what an artist made by God, 
Could see some imperfection there, 

Though deck'd with blossoms from the sod. 

Go, to the woods where the wild note, 
lias never ceased its dismal sound, 

Go, view the pages nature wrote, 
Over Gods' own holy ground. 

The flower is sweeter still by far, 
The ray is brighter from each star, 
The wasting music sounds along, 
A sweeter cadence in each song. 

That line of ivies on the hill, 

Where pipes the boist'rous whip-poor-will, 

Seems melting into amber, 
And all along wild voices trill, 
With shrieks and groans both loud and shrill, 

While screaming panthers clamber. 



There Eagle Eye now seeks to slake, 

His firey passions in the gore, 
Of the Oneida chief and takes, 

Advantage of his cunning lore ; 
He prowls a distance safe behind, 

And hounds his steps, the treach'rous knave, 
And yet, a Stalwart of his kind, 

The daring, bravest, of the brave. 



212 EARLY VANITIES. 

Revenge is sometimes just, and sweet, 
When not within a coward's breast, 

But in the main it's proved a cheat, 
To more than it has ever blest: — 

But now upon the Sandy Shore, 
Of Lake Ontario's broad expanse, 

They pitch their tents as oft before, 
And all join in the mazy dance. 

See, See ! that line of wigwams there, 
All by the sighing breezes fanned; 

And hear the echoes on the air, 
Die in the Lake ring on the land. 

Gaze back upon those envied hours, 
And see true pleasures, free from care, 

Along the shady wooded bowers, 

When wild men reigned unlorded there. 

-Delightful children of the wild, 

Life's burdens, ah ! you knew them not, 

For all around you plenty smiled, 

Free as the air you breathed; your lot 
Seemed cast for pleasure, yet the same, 
Till lo ! your fell destroyer came, 
The white man titled lord of all, 
On earth, and with him came your fall. 




Their birchen barks are launched upon 
The great Ning'ra's rolliug wave, 

And angling from the shore anon, 

Where many a red man's found a grave. 



EARLY VANITIES. 213 

You, to your Areouski* bow'd, 

And sought protection 'neath his wing, 

And all united firmly vowed, 

By him, for your just rights to cling. 



Their birchen barks are launched upon 
The great Niag'ra's rolling wave, 

And angling from the shore anon, 

Where many a red man's found a grave. 

A distance safe above the falls, 
They land and moor to rocky walls, 
And vap'ry myths go hurling past,f 
Foaming as they're overcast, 
Down, down, the rapid's warring wave, 
Each meet to conquer, none to save, 
Push, crowd, yawn, heave to and fro, 
High lashing, spouting, roaring so. 

How swift, how swift, how swift they go, 
Over, and over, roaring so, 
Plunging onward, sweeping along, 
Blending a chorus into a song, 
See them journey on to the falls, 

* Indian God. 

f The Indians regarded the Falls of the Niagara the work of 
the Evil Spirit, and imagined they could see the devil in the 
waves. 



214 EARLY VANITIES. 

Where they'll go hurling over the walls, 
Roaring, 

Pouring, 

Plunging along, 
Blending a chorus into a song. 

Nearer, nearer, nearer they go, 

Higher, higher, higher they flow, 

Now they tumble over the rock, 

And the great earth trembles under the shock. 

There were the slanting sunbeams fall, 
Gently across the wat'ry wall, 
Mark how they twinkle and expand, 
Shadowy forms from the fairy land, 
Great giant waters pour away, 
And merry sunbeams gently play. 

See the stout waves fleck'd with charms, 
Stretching out their giant arms, 
Toying with the great oak tree, 
Like a storm upon the sea, 
Hurling it, 

Whirling it, 

Round and round, 
Swelling out in a doleful sound, 
Tossing the great tree from behind, 
Like a feather upon the wind. 



Ah ! when the sun first shed its ray, 
And lit the first ethereal day, 



EARLY VANITIES. 215 

And when the stars in heaven's bine, 

Shed their first lustre in the night, 
And the chaste moon was clothed anew, 

Then they beheld this gorgeous sight. 
This same tremendous song sublime, 
Pealed forth with the first march of time, 
And never will it be allayed, 
Till all the planets have decayed, 
True emblem of eternity, 
As you are now still must you be, 
The source of many a classic song, 
When on thy banks there strayed along, 
A Moor, a Hale, a smoother Poe, 
Who sang as perfect as thy flow; 
Thy sounding waters rippling by, 
Beneath the blue ethereal sky. 
Were caught within their easy song, 

And now are on the wings of time, 
To soar forever, and belong, 

To the eternal book of rhyme. 

Ay, Europe's classic rivers all, 
The Thames that passes many a wall, 
The Tiber with its Roman gold, 
The Seine with all its beauty told, 
Are most oblivious names I say, 
Compared to our Niagara. 



Siouska and her little boy. 

Now launch their own light birchen bark, 
And with each wave it seems to toy, 

As though it were some fairy's ark. 



216 EARLY VANITIES. 

The morning sunbeam slanting plays, 
Upon the silv'ry ripples by 

Its streaming light, and twinkling rays 
Now dance before each longing eye. 

From warm Columbia's pleasant strand, 
Toward the chill'd Canadian shore, 

Each oarsman plies his steady hand, 
Firm, noiseless to the dipping oar. 



And little Ulla-Ulla stands, 
With bow and darts within his hands, 
And sends an arrow at each swallow, 
In sportive glee as it doth follow, 
And thus they go skimming the river, 

Up near the bank to a safe crossing, 
Above the falls with bow and quiver, 

In idle hands o'er wild waves tossing. 
O'er shadowing pines, and dark caves yawning, 
And massy crags projecting, awning, 
O'er the deep eddies of Niagara, 
And whirling vortex gurgling angry. 



Up, up, above the rapids rowing, 

Oneida leads with plying oar, 
Siouska next o'er waters glowing, 

Pulls her light bark up near the shore. 

Twang ! hissed a bowstring from a cluster 
Of dark pine trees upon the shore, 



EARLY VANITIES. 217 

Shriek, sigh, and shriek, and moan, and bluster; 
And reeled Oneida, and fell o'er. 

Into the deep dark waves that sallied, 

So wantonly, Oneida fell, 
As the white spray above him rallied, 

To sin »• his requiem of — farewell. 



Siouska saw her chieftain fall, 

Shriek'd fell unconscious in her boat, 
And rolling waves answered her call, 

As down the current she did float, 
Unconscious in her bark there lying ; 

And little Ulla saw their fate, 
And grasp'd the oars, and set them plying, 

A moment more, and 'twere too late. 



The little hero shoreward oaring, 

With might and main he near'd the land; 

He trembled at the deep dull roaring, 
And grasp'd a shrub with his small hand. 

« Fast, fast, he clung as the bark drifted, 

Down, down the current, till at last 
He caught a spray, his bow he lifted, 

And took the string, and anchored fast; 
Poor little brave fatherless boy, 

Thus saved from the deep waves that moved, 
Gazed with a fonder pride and joy, 

Into the face of all he loved, 



!18 EARLY VANITIES. 



That there lay turned to heaven before him, 
As watching for the spirit fled, 

That fate had fixed to journey o'er him, 
When its deserted home was dead. 



EARLY VANITIES. 



219 



PART THE FIFTH. 



She rises from her stupor, and she plies, 

The oars with nervous hand and fearless stroke, 

She feels the passion of revenge arise, 

Within her breast, and vengence like she broke, 

Into a shriek as o'er the wave she goes, 

Uttering fierce cries as if to still her throes. 

She pulls her light bark safe above the falls, 
And anchors it to bending branches by, 

Then steps upon the sand, and vainly calls, 
Out in the realms of space toward the sky, 

Oh ! stern is he o'er death that never cries, 
When some dear one has early pass'd away, 

And who is he that looks not to the skies, 
For consolation, and the endless day. 

We gaze out with such hope we think we see, 
Our loved ones throned within the realms ol 
bliss, 

We see the anchor of their destiny ;— 
Oh ! what is happiness compared to this ? 



220 EARLY VANITIES. 



* Oh ! do I not, each night gaze out above. 
In heaven's blue with tender pulsing heart, 

And see the one just passed away I love, 

A father from whom I thought I ne'er could part. 



He pass'd away at even, when the stars, 

Were twinkling down their brightest ray from 
heaven, 

From such a life on earth he pass'd no scars, 
Were left to memory to be forgiven. 



A father ; yes, a father, born for heaven, 

Was such a father as I lost, I say, 
Who all thro' life had never harsh words given, 

To wife, or child, or cross in any way; 
The elements of heaven were in his mould, 

And as the worms now take the form we love, 
That lies within its dark cell chill and cold, 

They cannot harm the spirit gone above. 

* My father died on the evening of the 9th of Nov. 1881, 
after an illness of only two hours duration, in his sixty -forth 
year. I can truthfully say that his life was spent in promoting 
the happiness of his family, and those around him. He never 
was known to speak a harsh word to his children or their 
mother. He was born in Davidson County, North Carolina, in 
the year 1817 and moved to Indiana when he was thirteen years 
of age. Shortly after his father died, leaving him the respon- 
sibility of caring for a mother and a large family of brothers 
and sisters. He battled with the first settlers of Montgomery 
County, Ind. , and was one of the warm supporters of the free 
school system. I cherish the memory of such a father. 



EARLY VANITIES. 221 

I linger, on the sound I cannot dwell, 
Dear father take this now, my last farewell. 



' Oh ! death the beautifier of the dead," 
Was sung of yore, and still there is a dread, 
In meeting this grim visage e'en the pain, 
Foreboding comes and taps our own heart-string, 

And melancholy fevers up our brain, 
With innate longing, still to life we cling. 



To Siouska we pass who meet below 

The falls to find the form she loved so well, 

And in the whirling vortex that did flow, 
She saw a sight that made her bosom swell. 

'Twas her Oneida's body whirling o'er, 
In the deep angry waters 'neath the falls, 

At times 'twould wash out near the sandy shore, 
Then with a rush recede back from the walls. 

Faint, sick at heart, but brave, she nears the brink, 
And waits till it comes back, then with a bound, 

She pluniges in, all nervous, ere it sink, 
And bears it in her arms unto the ground. 



Love prompts this brave heroic act, alas ; 

Death strengthens love in memory e'en tho' strong, 



222 EARL Y VANITIES. 

We cannot let the dear ones from us pass, 

Without mementoes numerously throng, 
Our breasts — death is the seed of love — it cast 

Its anchor in our heart of hearts, 
Ere it approach, and shows us in the past, 

What we are loth to know — it oft imparts, 
The noble things we ne'er before could see, 

Of those dear ones, while here on earth they dwelt 
And as we g,o on thro' life's destiny, 

Feel things at hearty that ne'er before we'd felt. 



Poor widowed motner, bending o'er the form, 
That here lies motionless before her eyes, 

Fit food now for the cold and slimy worm, 
That lies so sullen in its own disguise. 



There is a cluster of dark willows near, 

Through which the mellow wind gives cadence 
sweet, 
Where the same requiem sighs from year to year, 

And in this solitude plumed minstrels meet, 
Here the lone widow scoops her chieftain's grave, 

With tender hands she lays him down to rest, 
Between two willows that will gently wave, 

And marks the spot that wraps Oneida's breast, 
Fit couch for the repose of King or Queen, 

Is this lone place where the Oneida sleeps, 
Beneath the willow and the evergreen, 

Through which the poison ivy blooms and creeps, 
There she her lone protracted vigil keeps, 
Low at the earthen couch where death now sleeps. 



EARLY VANITIES. 223 

And lo ! she sighs to think she must depart, 
From him for e'er that she first learned to love, 

But here she leaves the essence of her heart, 
Entomb'd for aye, and casts her eyes above, 



And consolation beams down on her soul, 

And she doth drink from its clear fountain till 

The rock of faith is fixed for her control, 
And binds her to Oneida at her will. 



Oh ! what is consolation when we weep, 

O'er the death scene of one of our dear friends, 

'Tis but the rock of faith that make us keep, 
Our heart within us as to God it tends. 



Death is the fate to which all bow the knee, 
The very centre where all creatures tend; 

The plastic nature that sets spirits free; 

The dreaded hour, and still the common end. 

Here is the sweet commencement of our rest, 
The rich, the poor, the great, all meet for aye, 

Moslem, and christian, all by death are blest, 
And in this common gulf must pass away. 



This gulf unbridged, but with a " bridge of sighs," 
Oh ! fabled bridge, to sweet oblivion given, 

Must sound in song till the last echo dies, 
And then be graven in the vault of heaven. 



224 EARLY VANITIES. 



There is within us that can never die, 

Minds of all nations feel this hope so bright, 

And will for ever breathe the heaven-born sigh, 
While silvery rays shoot through oblivion's night. 



Why wonder if Si-ous-ka look'd to heaven ; 

Why wonder if she sigh'd to pass above ; 
Why wonder if her own heart-strings were riven ; 

While heaven and earth divide her from her love ? 



But now, alas ! the sun sinks in the west, 
All night, all day, this silent mother kept 

Her lonely vigil o'er the form that press'd 
Its earthen house — and silently she wept. 



And now she leaves this sacred spot. Alas ! 

Poor widow'd mother thou hast pass'd the same 
Ordeal that the many myriads pass, 

In weeping o'er a dear companion — vain 
Are those deep hallowed sounds that rend her breast, 
And yet not vain to weep for those that rest. 



But what we are we must be; Nature's laws, 
Stand like the fixed stars in heaven's deep, 

They can not change, but by the one Great Cause, 
By Him who made them — thus it is we weep. 



EARLY VANITIES. 225 

Back to the bank, forlorn, to her moor'd skiff, 

She wanders with a palpitating heart, 
By the lone willows, and o'erhanging cliff, 

Still thinking, Oh ! how hard it is to part 
With him, till she approached the brink where lay 

Her birchen bark — with silent tread — Aghast ! 
What did she see there toying on the spray, 

Within her boat ? A tremor o'er her past, 
Revenge flow'd through her veins, for there she saw, 

Within the arms of Morpheus, " Eagle Eye," 
The murderer of her chief within the bow 

Of her canoe. She heaved an angry sigh : 
Her wild glance flashed with anger, and the eye, 

That beamed forth love, shot forth its bitter hate 
With noiseless tread she drew up gently, nigh 

The sleeper in the boat, and fixed his fate; 
She threw the oars upon the brink and swung 

The boat far out, with wild exultant cry, 
Into the boiling rapids — the chief sprung 

Toward the shore — the fire flash'd from his eye, 
But the swift waves press'd hard against his breast, 

With which he battled manfully and brave; 
He saw his fate and did his very best 

To near the shore from such a death to save 
His wretched life : all efforts were in vain, 

And, seeing it, was hopeless to regain 
The brink once more. With one unearthly yell, 

He turns and plunges t'ward the awful falls, 
And boiling waters ring his funeral knell, 

As down he plunges o'er death's fearful walls. 

Thus she avenged the death of her great chief, 
And then returned to her old father's home, 



226 EARLY VANITIES. 

And spent her life in memory and grief, 

Of her heart's sweet devotion. There to roam 
O'er the same landscape that inspired her love, 
For him who now lives high in realms above. 



Back to her home, 

In the forest bleak, 
Ever to roam, 

Widowed, sad-eyed, weak. 

Deep sounds the billow, 

Into her heart, 
And the lone willow 

Droops as they part. 

O'er her fallen chief, 
While the deeps roar, 

Sounds its vain song o' grief, 
To the sad shore. 

Where his lone rest he'll take, 

Ever, oh, ever, 
To her sweet voice to wake, 

Never, oh, never. 

So back to her home of yore, 
With hopes above her, 

To dream and ponder o'er, 
Her own dead lover. 



EARLY VANITIES. 227 

There by the pebbly strand 

Of a stream laving, 
Dreaming of fairy land, 

'Neath the boughs waving. 

See I this Indian maid, 

Pointing to heaven, 
Where her sad heart is stay'd; 

Blighted and riven. 

Then back to the cool stream, 

To live life over, 
If but in thought, and dream, 

Of her sole lover. 

She longs for the bugle note, 

Of the Great Giver, 
And the lone fairy boat 

To cross the River. 



But his lone rest he'll take, 

Ever, oh, ever, 
To her sweet voice to wake 

Never, O, never. 



•@®$$^^ 



228 EARLY VANITIES. 



THE FATES; 

OR, 

THE DANCE ON THE LETHE, 

ONE THOUSAND YEARS FROM THIS TIME. 
BY 

FORMOSE PUER. 



Dedication. — This poem was written Ccrtis de Causis, and is 
affectionately inscribed to my "Dear Cousins " whose fates 
are within it decreed. Foemose Puee. 



EARLY VANITIES. 229 



INTRODUCTORY SONNET. 



AS I walked out one lonesome starlit night, 
I had a vision which was not a vision, 

And of this walk oft times I've made derision ; 
E'en if around me did play many a sprite, 
And what I saw, God grant, was a great sight, 

And what it was, was hard for a decision, 

But cracking bones made many a loud collision, 
And darting eyes could scarcely trace their flight, 

Some rose from out the water, some the ground, 
Some sailed athwart th' ether al vault of blue, 

Some only made a strangling, gurgling sound, 
Some roared like distant thunder as they flew ; 

Some wore strange aspects, as they pass'd around, 
And some were goblins that I surely knew. 



230 EARLY VANITIES. 



THE FATES; OR, THE DANCE ON THE 
LETHE. 



But if in noble minds some dregs remain, 
Not yet purged off, of spleen and sour disdain ; 
Discharge that rage on more provoking crimes, 
Nor for a dearth in these flagitious times, 

Pope. — 



My readers may regard me as a very presumptuous man, but 
I cannot help it, and after the literati of Crawfordsville, In- 
diana, away in the misty future, have experienced what I have 
attempted to describe, they will quietly acquiesce with me, 
and place a feather in my cap. They may now claim, that I 
am possess'd with his satanic majesty, or the idiosyncracy pecu- 
liar to a monomaniac, neither can I help that, but Crawfords- 
ville talent is too precious to be wasted, and too popular to be 
hissed from the stage of public favor, and I would not do one 
thing intentionally to retard the progress of that noble band of 
literary aspirants. I only wish to show them that when we all 
meet in that " Sweet By and By, " that I am correct, and when 
the Lethe disgorges its vast multitude, Crawf ordsville will be 
represented as described. I have caused this to be published, 
not from malice toward any, but guided only by pure motives 
and the Mmcs. He who has never gazed out on the dark rolling 
Lethe of fancy has never enjoyed the pleasures of a deep and 
sweet reverie. Some uncontrollable feeling came over me, 
and I was permitted to look away over yonder in the future, 
and behold that contemporary line of poetic writers that this 
Dear Athens (Crawfordsville) prides herself so much of. When 



EARLY VANITIES. 231 



my fancy gazed out upon the waters, it saw millions of fairy 
aspects. At first they appeared to be mere shadows, phantoms, 
or what not, but I had not gazed long, however, till those 
shadows had grown into human skeletons, and each skeleton 
carried a wand, or banner with name engraven thereon, as 
candidate for the rank it thought it merited. I was permitted 
to see, just as the noble representatives of Crawfordsville, 
were receiving the commission for their reward. Among them 
I noticed Mayfield, (Dan Starus), Kraut, Thornpson, and Lew 
Wallace. Occasionally I would get a glimpse at Clodfelter, 
but he did not appear to figure very conspicuously. 

I hold that there is but a small space between heaven, and 
true poets. They are rare, and like the heavenly dove, that 
flies upon the same exalted level, and never touches the earth. 
It is not only one time in many millions, that genius arrives 
with us to live forever. Some few, may set eternal stars over 
our heads, many others, may scatter delicious flowers along 
our pathway, fragrant and beautiful in the morning to wither 
away in the first noon-day sun. You will perceive in the order 
of arrangement (which is just as I saw it), that the Judgment 
is by turns administered, and from the representatives of 
Crawfordsville, Frank Mayfield will be the first to arrive on 
the waters and appear before the Judgment Seat of St. Peter. 



4Kt$t:$i.aa» ; 



232 EARLY VANITIES. 



H 



E will struggle with the tide, 
And the Muses by his side, 
Will but place him on the sand, 
With a metre in Ids hand; — 
Then witli Harp's iEolian note, 
He will row his fairy boat, 
When the softest chords will flow, 
Over those that sleep below, 
There will bony figures creep, 
Then from out the rolling deep, 
And with rattling bones around, 
He will strike a doleful sound, 
And their requiem he will chime, 
In a sort of ' ' Runic Runic," 
Ere their sweetest cadence dies, 
All those creaking bones arise, 
In a circle fast around, 
Keeping time to ev'ry sound ; 
In the midst our minstrel stands, 
Musing therewith sweeping hands, 
O'er the syren harps he woke, ' 
And the bones to whom he spoke, 
With many a gurgling splatter, 
And a kind of clitter-clatter, 
Danced the skeletons aright. 
Till the " wee sma' hours o' night," 
When one of the "Tuneful Nine," 
Seeing Frank on the decline, 
Gently stepped upon the water, 
Just think that lovely daughter. 




; There will bony fingers creep 
Then from out the rolling deep.' 



EARLY VANITIES. 233 

There with him dancing by, on the bosom of the 

Lethe,* 
Where the flowery walks are grand, and all beauty 

seem to breathe; 
There all minstrels seem to join, as they mount their 

great Pegassus,f 
And with winged speed they flee to the Gorgeous 

Mount Parnassus, 

Frank he went up all alone, 
To St. Peter on his throne ; 
Just to hear his fair decision, 
Even if it were derision, 
But he was a " boss old boy," 
And he fill'd Frank's heart with joy, 
He didn't believe in aristocracy, 
And abhorred all pantisocracy, 
But Frank made a jerking bow, 
To his angelship just how, 
I do not mind but know, 
It was ten degrees or so, 
When St. Peter said, " Begin; 
Tell the truth if you would win 
An eternal place and name, 
On the mountain top of fame ; 



* For Rythm I pronounce this "Leeth" as a monosyllable and 
to give my Dear Cousins a chance for an infliction. " Gods" don't I 
hear them say that there are plenty of chances for inflictions on 
this drowsy cant produced by a poor sickly muse. But never mind 
and use this also. 

t My Dear Cousins please pardon this : you can throw the accent 
on the first syllable if you desire. 



234 EARLY VANITIES. 



So, Mayfield, I pray speak out, 
And tell us all you wrote about. 
" Well," says Frank, " if I must say, 
I once wrote a little lay, 
But the subject I can't give, 
Just now ; but it will live, 
For I wrote it all the same, 
" On the border line of fame"* 
Then the cherubs all around, 
Made their golded trumpets sound, 
With a kind of laugh and riot, 
That the Saint, could hardly quiet, 
Is that sir all you ever wrote, 
"No;" piped Mayfield's husky throat, 
" But if I can now rely, 
On my memory I'll try, 
I wrote ' No Irish need apply,' "f 
St. Peter jumped about in haste, 
Crack'd his heels and backward paced, 
" Well done my jolly boy, well done, 
You are then a favorite son, 
Pass on a while and silent wait, 
Through that little golden gate, 
And you soon shall know your fate. 
Frank pass'd on as if he'd sinned, 

F. Mayfield, in Indianapolis Herald, Jan. 1880: 

* " I stand where poets all have stood, 
Just on the border line of fame." 

Ah ! Frank, did you finally get there ? 



t No Irish need apply. 
Frank Mayfield in Crawfordsville Journal. 



EARLY VANITIES. 

While St. Peter only grinned. 
Clapped his hands upon his side, 
And in thunder tones he cried, 
" There's a poet true and tried." 
On the towering mountain high, 
Basking in the sunny sky, 
Sits our hero ! * 

"But arise !" 
Cries a seraph from the skies, 
And then in a moment rears, 
A bleached form that's been for years, 
In the depths with the forsaken, 
Till some cherub form hath taken, 
Off the veil ; and who is he, 
The alabaster form we see. 
Then at once with gentle clatter, 
And a " splitter-splatter-splatter," 
Dance the fairies jigs and reels, 
And there in the centre wheels, 
Maurice Thompson with his lyre, 
There amid the bony choir; 
Independent never "carin"' 
If he did kill the white heron,t 
And it made him thus immortal, 
And his muse they cannot startle, 
But with many a huge grimace, 



235 



* Frank feels good. He is now enjoying the acme of His fame, and 
looks down npon his contemporaries, with contempt He has tasted 
of the dear draught of immortal fame and likes the potion. No 
one can enjoy this more than my Dear Consm Frank. 

t See his " Witchery of Archery;" 
"The Death of the White Heron." 



236 EARLY VANITIES. 

And a white and bony face, 
Maurice struck his sweetest notes, 
And the fairies in their boats, 
When they could endure no more, 
With their gently dipping oar, 
Rowed our poet to the shore ; 
Then his Pegasus he strode, 
And with flying speed he rode, 
To the monarch of the mountains, 
And the pure inspiring fountains. 
Maurice enters thro' the gate, 
To his holy, high estate, 
Muttering some perfect metre, 
As he first meets old St. Peter;* 
"Welcome Maurice ! Hail to thee !" 
Cries St. Peter in great glee, 
"Come up to the judgment seat, 
And your busy life repeat," 
" Well, my judge, my life was busy, 
(But my head's a little dizzy), 
Tho' I wrote but in Prosaics, 
All the " Hoosierdom " Mosaics.f 

And 'tis strange the works which shame us, 
Very often make us famous." 
" But no time now for debating, 
Many more outside are waiting, 
And we want no pompous diction," 



* The meeting of Cousin Maurice and St. Peter, will be long re- 
membered, although Maurice seemed somewhat flustrated owing to 
the peculiar rattle of his bones, yet he behaved wonderfully well. 

t See his masterpiece " Hoosier Mosaics." 



EARLY VANITIES. 237 

Cries St. Peter, " and no fiction.' 1 

" Well, dear Sir, I wrote some " Witchery," 
And some " Archery," and some " Whichery," 
And much more I wrote for Harper, 
But perhaps for Scribner Sharper. 

And let me tell you no disaster, 
Though I'm but a portaster, 
Came from what I wrote on earth, 
Which I think proves well my worth. 
Peter could sit still no longer, 
Rose and said, " but few write stronger, 
Just step through that golden gate, 
And there be content to wait, 
Till archangels fix your fate."* 

He then pass'd the golden portal, 
Where he hoped to be immortal, 
Then his jaded horse he spurred, 
While his eyes they blink'd and blurred, 
When his sharp ears overheard, 
Happy Mayfield's well known lyre, 
Sounding up the mountain higher, 
Then he went up to the throne, 
That Frank occupied alone, 
With a whoop he tried to pass, 
But, Alas ! alas ! alas ! 



* Maurice felt good, and indeed would have been happy, had it not 
been for the obstruction thrown in his pathway just through the 
little gate. 



238 EARLY VANITIES. 

For a struggle there ensued for high rank.* 

Leaping backward with a shiver, 
Maurice drew forth from his quiver, 
The fatal shaft, and from his bow, 
Came a twang, and down below, 

He plumped poor Frank, 
There to Maurice on his throne, 
Harps an Hourif all alone. 

And no ears e'er drank such strains as she swept the 

golden strings, 
While the cherubs crowding round hini fann'd him 

with their rustling wings. 



* This was a long and severe struggle for the mastery. At times it 
was difficult to determine which would have to yie d : but Maurice, 
having an archer's experience, finally took advantage ofhiswirey 
antagonist, and hurled him down the awful abyss, pierced through 
and through, by his certain arrow, and poor Cousin Mayfield's fame 
was not a fixed certainty. 

t Maurice may congratulate himself for the prospective pleasure 
of living in sweet communion with that black-eyed nymph of para- 
dise; and now, my Dear Cousin, let new vanities swell in your bosom 
since you are sure to meet her; only a little lapse of 1,000 years now 
separate you. 








Leaping backward with a shiver, 
Maurice drew forth from his quiver, 
,The fatal shaft, and from his bow, 
Came a twang, and down below 
He plumped poor Frank. 



EARLY VANITIES. 239 



Poor Mayfield after being plumped off of the mountain 
(what a pity it was, he was not an archer, too) becomes envious 
and jealous of his contemporary, runs zig-zag, along a mighty 
tarn, when a cherub's sword arises from the mere, seizing it 
with giant grip, wheels and throws it. The pointed silver 
flashes splendor through the Moon's silvery sheen, as on it goes 
headlong, perpendicular, whirling in an arch, round and round, 
with fatal vengeance to anything with which it might come in 
contact; sweeping, and cropping shrubs, as if hurled by some 
Titan of old. On, on it goes, vengeance like, directed with 
impetuous speed, toward the vital spark surrounded by the 
long form of Maurice. But ere it has reached its destination, 
a sturdy cherub, seeing the fatal mark of its intended termina- 
tion, leaps like a meteor into its well directed route, seizes it by 
the hilt, brandishes it twice over his head, at each time crying 
vengeance on him who hurled this implement of war. Then 
raising it in a semicircle obliquely, lets fly the silvery weapon 
toward the spot whence it had proceeded. On, on it goes 
leaving a trace of fire behind it, as if hurled by the hand of 
Juno, till alas! poor Mayfield it strikes about the midriff, 
knocking him into the casket of oblivion, where he may take 
his calm repose forever, and naught but mortal dare intrude. 
When the bony forms of the Lethe arise and on goes the 
dance. 



240 EARLY VANITIES. 

From beneath the sullen water, 

Rose a fair and lovely daughter; 

And there, in a circle 'round, 

Many legions doth abound, 

From the bosom of the Lethe,* 

Many fairies show'd their teeth; 

Terpsichore upon the sand, 

Gave the rattling bones command, 

Hornpipes, jigs, and reels were spun, 

And many slow cotillions run, 

Legions from the river reared; 

Myriads in it disappeared; 

Then two gentle forms arose, 

Just as if from long repose, 

And no ears had drank such chimes, 

("Ceptin" those who've heard their rhymes,) 

As they struck upon the wires, 

Of their well attuned lyres; 

But as spirits sing before us, 

We proceed to give the chorus : — 

Roared the River, clashed the bones, 
Chimed the harps in softer tones, 
Every sound was in its place, 
Every f airy moved with grace, 
Not a discord broke the spell, 
All was music in the dell: 



* Tawlology: Tawlology 
Please cry it aloud. 

And bring as you cry it 
My faint Muse's shroud. 



EARLY VANITIES. 241 



Some would wake, and some would sleep, 
Some would dance, and some would weep, 
Some would laugh, and some would cry, 
Some would sob, and some would sigh; 

Roared the Styx in thunder tones; 
Beat the water with their bones, 
Every crash, and gentle chime, 
Kept within its proper time. 

One not of the Nine, 

Came down from above, 
In her plumage so fine, 

With her spirit of love; 
She gazed as they danced, 

With devotional care, 
And her soul was entranced 

With the musical air, 
And she gracefully roved, 

From the billowy strand, 
To the one that she loved.* 



* Beautiful Venus ! "with thy hair of light 

And dazzling eyes of glory in whose form 

The charms of earth's least mortal daughters grow 

To an unearthly stature ; in an essense of pure elements 

While the hues of youth carnationed like a sleeping infant's cheek, 

Rock'd hy the heatings of a mother's heart, 

Or the rose tints etc., etc., 

My Dear Cousin Mary, how vividly I thought of these lines when I 
saw fair Venus pilot you up to the temple of fame. 



242 EARL Y VANITIES: 

With a harp in her hand; 
And I gazed through the night, 

At the dance. on the wave, 
As the pale melting light, 

Lit the lone, empty grave; 
With the wings of the wind, 

They arose from the Lethe,* 
Leaving cherubs behind, 

In an ambient wreath, 



That's too much— but the wicked must furnish the Gods a grist. 



EARLY VANITIES. 243 



And as fair Venus balanced herself upon the silvery waters, by 
the side of the Author of "Little Brown Hands," to direct her to the 
mountain of fame, down beneath the bubbling wave, in a great cir- 
cumambient wreath, sank the faries, and on the swift wings of the 
blast go the two: Mary Hannah Krout and Venus; through infinite 
vistas of space, from the ffowery boso^n of the Lethe to the great 
mountain of Parnasus. The way up the rugged mountain was as 
splendid as pageantry could make it. The rocks were all covered 
by the fairest tapestry. Hundreds of fairy barks floated gallantly 
upon the Lethe, with their banners shining in splendor, and glass- 
ing themselves in the silvery waters. Her -pathway along the fair 
valleys was strewn with delicious flowers by the hand of cherubs, 
till the whole mountain seemed bathed in their fragrance. On, on 
they go up the towering mountain, directed by the sweet and gentle 
cadences of Maurice's heavenly lyre, till the whole atmosphere 
seemed tremulous with its undying vibrations. They go on, and 
on, unnoticed till they come within a cubit of Maurice's golden 
throne— an instant more and all is still— and on looking above, they 
behold Maurice gazing down on them with one of those grins pecu- 
liar to cherubs of his rank, and in a fit of dissatisfaction, they hear 
his bugle blow; which rallies dreadful cherubim to ranks of war. 
But on gazing down the second time and beholding the legions 
hastening to the aid of the Author of "Little Brown Hands," 
he disperses his army, and shrinks unto a dark and dreary 
cave, content to let Mary Hannah occupy a higher position 
upon the mountain than himself. So, on she goes unmolested. 
She comes to a table land, paved with gold, where all the rocks were 
disguised by some extrinsic attributes of fancy's dress, and drapery 
deck'd with diamonds and crystals, was hanging from the mighty 
gorges of the mountain, as if suspended by the hands of angels for 
the passage of divine footsteps. There upon her throne, sits she, 
communing with the Divine messengers of heaven, calling them 
around her in shoals by the heavenly strains of her sounding lyre. 



244 EARLY VANITIES. 

When a loud voice cried "arise;''* 

Peeped forth many hollow eyes, 

From beneath the rolling wave, 

Which so long had been a grave; 

Then they all began to dance, 

O'er the river's broad expanse, 

And their teeth to clash and clatter, 

With a ghastly " chitter-chatter,'' 

As they run the graceful schottish, 

It appeared a little Scottish, 

When they round, and round did canter, 

Then I thought of " Tarn O'Shanter," 

f Yawning grave yards belched their bones, 

Some had even turned to stones, 

Coffin's rose from out the ground, 

To the melancholy sound; 

Death robes floated in the air, 

With relics from the golden stair, 

Coffins stood upon the end, 

Skeletons looked out and grinned; — 

Readers shrink from such a feature, 

If you are a scarey creature, 

For it certainly is awful, 

And you may not think it, lawful 

Thus to sing of such a sight, 

Yet, I can but think it right, 



* Just who this was giving command, I cannot exactly say, but it 

appeared to be flavored with the usual egotism of . But never 

mind, the cadence of that sweet voice was Divine. 

1 1 am indeed anxious that my readers shall understand this, I 
believe in close descriptions of such rare sceances. It was a scary 
sight indeed. Just imagine what bravery it took to stand and behold 
such a scene. I did so— Ego ! 



EARLY VANITIES. 245 

For some poor ungodly sinner, 
May expect to be the winner; 
Like Clodfelter* who will try, 
To pass contemporaries by, 
And he'll give his talent scope, 
When he scarce can dare to hope — 
But as I have been inspired, 
It is your time to be lyred, 
By the harp with golden strings, 
Cherubs touch with magic wings — 
I'm aware that some may prank me, 
But I trust that more will thank me, 
For all this advice I've given, 
That has just come fresh from heaven, 
I don't believe in rapping spirit, 
If I'd hear one I would fear it, 
If I'd see one I would doubt it, 
If IV! feel one I would rout it : 
All things favorable before us, 
We will now begin the chorus,f 

Roared the river, clashed the bones, 
Came the drowning gurgling tones, 
Clinching hands, and bowing neat, 
Tiptoe schottish, thou art sweet; 
Shake the hands and place the feet, 
Graceful on the silvery sheet, 



* Gods ! what a name to rhyme on, 'tis hard to tell which would 
bring most credit his verse or name. 

t This was one of the most graceful dances, it was my good or 
bad fortune to see. The " crack" of each bone was as clear as the 
ring of fresh coined silver. 



246 EARLY VANITIES. 

Promenade, and circle round, 

Go, till Gabriel's trump shall sound. 

Dance on tiptoe, ye are grand, 

As ye shake each bony hand, 

Irish jig, and rigadoon, 

Time to each imperial tune ; 

R ound they go in dizzy maze, 

Twinkling foot pat gently plays, 

To Bolero, jig, or waltz, 

Till at last each fairy halts ; — 

Then a call spread o'er the river, 

All except a little quiver, 

When a bony cherub rose, 

From his long and sweet repose, 

All eye sockets could but blur, 

At the Author of B — H — 

When he rose for his reward, 

Soldier, Scholar, Novelist, Bard,! 

All the judges in a row, 

Tried more honors to bestow, 

As they knew not where to place him, 

Lest their judgment might disgrace him, 

Some one said by Victor Hugo, 

Others argued not to do so, 

But beside his favorite Irving, 

Was the place of his deserving, 

There they placed him on Pegasus,* 

With command to sweep Parnassus, 

Of all Crawfordsville's Small Folk, 

That on earth con Id only croak, 

Such as Thompson, Mayfield, Krout, 

* Excuse me, my Dear Cousins! 



EARLY VANITIES. 247 

Leaving little Clody* out, 
From the worthy of the fold, 
By himself so chill and cold. 



The General's reception was a grand affair, for lie had no 
more than dismounted when thousands of cherubs, appropri- 
ately equipped, came in cavalcades superb, in unbroken lines 
of splendor, each distinguished by those insignia of the Great 
General's favor, and striving to attract the attention of the dis- 
tinguished comer. Around the curve wheels a golden chariot, 
drawn by snow white palfreys, in beautiful gold-embroidered 
trappings. The chariot was as famous, as it was beautiful, 
for it had drawn up this gorgeous mountain the immortelles 
from the early existence of the world, and in it were seated, 
Hugo, Scott, and Irving. When he entered this rare chariot, 
each one advanced, and placed about him an endless wreath of 
evergreens, beaded with choice diamonds, as a welcome, and 
emblematic of his eternal fame. On, on they go up the steep 
mountain, till they pass the hermit home of Maurice, who 
comes out to greet his old comrade and contemporary. But 
ere he had approached two paces toward him, the gulf of 
oblivion draws him in, and swallows him; and alas! and alas! 
poor Maurice is no more. And so passeth Mary Hannah 
Krout, and the world is the same as though they had never 
lived in it. Pit\ Thompson, Krout and Mayfield, for all their 
efforts were fruitless, and Clodfelter the most pitiful aspect of 
the fold only arrives at the mere of the mountain to have 
fingers pointed at him, when he slinks back to his natural place 
of abode, content to go down with the Plebian of the world. 
And thus we learn, that in the final ending of all things, only 
one from Crawf ordsville is to eternally represent her, and that 
is the author of B. — H. — which is as eternal as the spirit that 
wrote it. 

*" Little Clody" Ha! ha! ha!! 



248 EARLY VANITIES. 



EPITAPH. 



GAZE on this spot of sorrow, gaze again, 
Behold the sleeping dust, that will remain, 
The spoil of time ; and plant the sleeping tear, 
Above the mortal relique lying here; 
They've done their best, 'twas all we could expect, 
They sought what nature never did direct. 
And courted all the Muses for the strain, 
They longed to sing, but always sung in vain, 
They were so much like Popes (except in fame), 
" They gasped for numbers " but no numbers came, 
They were the friends of vain ambition — still — 
They poured forth strains obedient to their will, 
Though like the pond, that sleeps low in the vale, 
Unmoved except by some mere passing gale, 
It soon grows slimy, and returns to vapor, 
Like thoughts they left upon much wasted paper, 
This dust is theirs, think kindly as you pass, 
For it must rest a long forgotten mass, 
And praise and blame be buried where they rest, 
What more could we expect — they've done their best. 



MARLY VANITIES. 249 



To Miss Mary H. Krout— Poetess. 



This poem " The Pleasures of Home " is inscribed, as a token 
of admiration for her genius, and gratitude for her friendship. 

The Author. 



250 EARLY VANITIES. 



THE PLEASURES OF HOME. 



And say without our hopes, without our fears, 
Without the home that plighted love endears, 
Without the smile from partial beauty won, 
Oh ! what were man ? — a world without a sun. — Byron. 



MUSE of heaven, wilt thou hover, 
'Round the eves of this dear cottage, 
While the humble minstrel in it, 
Strings the harp that sometimes vibrates, 
Gently to his sweeping fingers, 
Oh ! it is the solemn winter, 
And the howling wind is flying, 
Over all the dreary moorland, 
Pressing, fanning, by each window, 
Sifting snows above the door-sill, 
Whistling thro' each little crevice. 
Howl on winds, you do not harm me, 
Though you lift your angry voices, 
Though you sigh in softer cadence, 
Like some gently weeping mourner, 
Over all that is but mortal, 
Of some friend in death low sleeping, 
Or like some bereaved lover, 
That still lifts his voice to heaven, 
And his fancy sees above him, 



EARLY VANITIES. 251 

On the throne of the immortal, 

The fair object that he worships. 

Sigh on winds ! you can but touch me, 

In the bosom where affection 

Sits and broods o'er melancholy, 

Like a magnet to a centre, 

Drawing objects to it gently ; 

Thus I sit, and muse in silence, 

With the ones I love around me, 

All the dreary nights of winter : — 

Sigh on winds ! without is winter. 

Howling winter, flying snowflakes, 

While within is spring and summer; 

Though my cottage is but humble, 

Yet, the gentle rays that light it, 

With the fuel of affection, 

Make it stately as a palace : — 

Sigh on winds, thy arms are reaching, 

Through each dingle, o'er each mountain, 

Sad, and lonely for the minstrel, 

As he sits and hears thee wailing. 

Sigh on winds ! thro' clouds and vapors, 

Make the barren oak bow to thee, 

And the moaning pine sing anthems, 

In sweet melody and vespers, 

As from each cone sighing softly, 

Some fair minstrel sent from heaven ; — 

Sigh on winds ! through harps iEolian, 

Though abrupt thou art tormented, 

To sweet music as thou'rt flying, 

Playing o'er the haggard faces, 

Of the friendless, and the homeless ; — 

Sigh on winds ! hence to the hovel, 



552 EARLY VANITIES. 

Where the widow, and the orphan, 
Sit alone as the dun spectre, 
Poverty doth reign supremely, 
While the little dimpled children, 
With warm hearts of sweet devotion, 
Cling about their helpless mother: — 
Sigh on winds ! thou'rt no respecter, 
Of dependent circumstances, 
Still you go on howling, wailing, 
With thy unrelenting fierceness : — 
Sigh on winds ! soothe the lone traveler, 
As he wanders onward homeless, 
Whisper in his ears the death-note, 
As he sinks upon the highway, 
To the mercy of thy wailing. 

As the wind is sighing, sighing, 
'Round the eves of this dear cottage, 
The fair rosy spring of childhood, 
Spreads its cherub sward before me, 
And the merry peal of laughter, 
Seems to send its voice from heaven ; 
Oh ! the lovely days of childhood, 
Oh ! the halcyon spring of childhood, 
In thy sweet sequestered valleys, 
Let me live, and let me wander, 
Plucking roses from the valleys, 
Where the fountains of true pleasure, 
Pour their crystal waters onward, 
As we follow down the current. 
Oh ! this current never ceasing, 
But it wanders onward, onward, 
As we follow where it leadeth. 




Sigh on winds! sooth the lone traveler 
As he wanders onward homeless 
Whisper in his ears the death note 
As he sinks upon the highway 
To the mercy of thy wailing. 



EARLY VANITIES. 253 

Down this ever flowing current, 
Breathing nature lisps her poems, 
While true child-hood passes onward, 
Heedless to its gentle numbers. 
Where the tinge of setting sunbeams, 
Stream along the western hill-tops, 
In the gloaming where wild nature, 
Wastes and sobs away its cadence ; 
There unmindful reckless childhood, 
Wanders with the current onward, 
Breathing the sweet breath of freedom, 
As it wafts from where it knows not ; 
There it trails the smoothest pathway, 
And evades the dark dun shadows, 
While it culls the wildwood flower, 
Cautions of the thorn and thistle ; 
But down the sequestered valley, 
Wanders onward reckless childhood, 
As the wild birds sing around it, 
The sweet anthems of the forest, 
And it wanders thro' the twilight, 
While fair Luna rides majestic, 
Thro' the oval vault of heaven, 
And her silvery rays o'ershadow, 
The fair hill-tops o'er the valley, 
While a stream of fire in heaven, 
Sweeps athwart th' etherial ocean ; 
Shooting stars. And then all nature, 
Sinks into a somber silence. 
Where the giant oak is bending, 
Checkered with the moss of ages, 
With its mighty arms out reaching, 
O'er the still sequestered valley ; 



254 EARL Y VANITIES. 

Where the drowsy ear of nature, 
Drinks the wild notes of the forest, 
And the breezes whisper softly, 
Through ^Eolian harps of heaven, 
As the Houris of seclusion, 
Dream and touch the harps of cadence, 
That vibrate and swell in concord, 
Through each dingle of the valley, 
Oh ! could those immortal spirits, 
Nine in number holy Muses, 
Here descend, incarnate beauties, 
With the lyres of heaven with them, 
How the very winds would blossom, 
With their sweet inspiring numbers, 
And refulgent inspiration, 
Tremble in the very nature, 
Of the Poet as he wanders, 
Thro' this paradise terrestial. 
Oh ! sweet days of romping childhood. 
Oh ! the little ills of childhood, 
Eacli day turns its written pages, 
Turns them gently out of sight then, 
Folds them down in logic order, 
To remain in dusty covers, 
For the age of meditation. 

When the once smooth brow is furrowed, 
By the plows of age and sorrow, 
And the melancholy musings, 
Of the past draw all things to us, 
Then the book of youth is dearest, 
And the shadows fall from Westward, 
Are more golden in the evening. 



EARLY VANITIES. 255 

With this book spread out before us, 
Age is youth, and age is spring-time, 
When our lives have been examples, 
That if rising ones would follow, 
Generations would grow better. 
When such stars go down at even, 
And the last faint spark has faded, 
Then the trail of light that follows, 
Still directs the weary Pilgrims, 
To their distant home in heaven, 
Long their path begem'd with roses, 
But the erring, and the thoughtless, 
Often tread upon the flowers, 
And get pricked by thorns and thistles ; 
Then old age is but a battle, 
By the gods of ill-fate guided, 
Through the darkness of the valley, 
Where they wander to the music, 
Of their own sad lamentations ; 
There the fate of time slow telling 
Playing o'er their locks and faces, 
And no reminiscence golden, 
To invigorate their being ; 
And the sad, stern thoughts, ere looming, 
To their minds which are so vivid, 
That they can but shrink and shudder, 
At their own existence, wishing 
That their reason would forsake them, 
And the past forever swallow, 
Up the ghouls that haunt the pathway, 
Of the present, as they wander, 
Down the valley of the sages : — 
Down this deep dark vale of silence, 



256 EARLY VANITIES. 

Hands will gently rise before us, 
There to point the weary traveler, 
Backward o'er the path he's traveled : — 
Oh! the golden thoughts, if golden ; 
Oh! the gloomy thoughts, if gloomy; 
Will still follow, onward, onward, 
Down the valley dark or golden, 
As the light or shade behind us, 
That we made to follow onward, 
In the foot-steps left behind us. 
Tho' our lives have led thro' darkness, 
And we make a short divergence, 
To evade the ghouls we challenged, 
On our way, they still will hound us. 
Sunny temple, holy temple, 
That enshrives the smiles of pleasure, 
'Tis not gothic works nor golden, 
'Tis not adamant or lasting 
Unless built by the immortal 
Virtues : honor, love, and kindness. 
In the west a star is beaming, 
Where the eye of hope is gazing, 
And the march is onward, upward, 
Ever onward, nearer, nearer, 
When directed by these virtues. 
' There is happiness in sorrow, 

When our lives with love are tinctured, 

And sweet sympathetic faces, 

Look upon us in misfortune; 

Then the humblest home will blossom, 

With a radiance of true pleasure, 

And the little world around us, 

Is the dear ones of our hearthstone. 



EARLY VANITIES. 257 

There the little babe is cooing, 
All unconscious yet of sorrow, 
That seems sabled in the future, 
Waiting for our careless foot-steps ; 
Then the little romping children, 
Softly stealing up behind us, 
To bestow their fond affections, 
And illume our face with'smiling. 
There the fond wife of our bosom, 
Though her care-worn brow marks pleasure, 
She whose face shows beauty's arches, 
Though the touch of time is playing, 
Sparingly upon her features : — 
And as peering thro' a lattice, 
With a smile wove on his features, 
Hanging on the wall beside us, 
Is a picture of our darling; 
Our fair darling boy in heaven; 
There he seems to smile upon us, 
As rejoiced to mark the pleasure, 
That illumes the family circle. 
Let me live within the sunshine 
Of the loved ones in my cottage, 
Where hearts flutter with winged joy, 
When my step is heard approaching; — 
Home, oh ! home ! the sweetest harbor, 
For the weary soul to rest in ; 
Where is treasured love and joy, 
Peace and honor, born of heaven, 
\.ll uniting into pleasure. 
Home, O, home ! Within my cottage, 
Where the modest eye is beaming, 
And the gentle close embraces, 



258 EARLY VANITIES. 

Of my little ones around me, 
Emulous to please my notions, 
And attract maternal kindness. 
Home, O, home ! when worldly troubles, 
Crease my features into sadness, 
There's the harbor of my pleasure, 
The balm o' Gilead that sustains me. 
Electric sounds of loving voices, 
Drive the melancholy spectre, 
From my soul, and plant a pleasure : — 
Like ^Eolian harps of olden, 
Strung from fair Apollo's tresses, 
Swept by his immortal fingers, 
Sounds the cadence of loved voices, 
In the honored home of pleasure, 
Home, auspicious home, I love thee ! 
There retired from worldly troubles ; 
Not for gothic architecture, 
But the heaven that illumes it ; 
Thus my song shall end in praising, 
These fair arks that sail in pleasure, 
Safely o'er the stormy billows, 
Of misfortune, pain, and sorrow, 
Worldly cares and deep forebodings ; — 
Thus my song shall end extending, 
Greetings, welcomes, to my dear friends, 
To my ho??ie, my sweet Nepenthe. 



.i£S« i3i it it i£& wf^i 



EARLY VANITIES. 259 



[From the Indianapolis Review. 

A. SONNET. 



Written while standing o'er the grave of Edgar Allen Poe, 
Baltimore, April 11, 1884, 

By N. J. Clodfelter. 

IMMORTAL Poe ! I stand above thy dust, 
And feel thy presence, and almost can sue, 

Thy jingling bells and hear their harmony, 
And mark the raven perched upon thy bust, 

As on the weired wind songs of Eu-le-le, 
With harps ^Eolian all vibrate in tune, 

And play sweet melodies in memory 
Of that fair maid with whom thou didst commune 
I lift my eyes to Heaven's blue, and sing 

Thy praises, Poe — Thou didst inspire my breast 

Till poesy was all my soul's bequest 
Ere youth and manhood met. And now the wing, 

Tho' feebly pinioned, flutters with delight, 

While here thy praises I attempt to write. 



260 EARLY VANITIES. 



THRENODY. 



AND I have sung in vain so long, 
I scarce can feel new courage rise, 
The wealth of soul I've giv'n to song, 

Still to my sorrow multiplies: 
I know not why I've sung in vain, 

For in my breast IVe felt the power, 
Of poesy swell up again, 

And blossom in a lonely hour; — 
The hope I've nursed within my breast, 

Is now of doubtful mien and case; — 
The fire is smothered, and oppressed, 

That glows spontaneous to the last. 



vox POPULI. 



EARLY VANITIES. 261 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF OUR DARLING 
LITTLE DAUGHTER, ALMA NINA. 



She was kind as she was beautiful, and innocent as she 
was fair. She could read and write well at the age of six. Her 
intelligence was far ahead of her years. 



DEATH came in through our door, and how he came 
I know not, for he gave no signal — still 
He came mysteriously around and placed 
His seal upon tlie brow of her we loved ; 
Tho' seemingly unkind, he was but kind; 
For when the death lines fell upon her face 
And the dim shadows hovered o'er her bed, 
He privileged her to speak to those she loved. 
Tho' only seven years of age she knew 
That death had come, and calm resigned, she said: 
" I'll have to leave you, papa, mama, and 
My little sisters two, and go above 
To brother dear", and then she lisped once more 
"I want to kiss you all" and ere she had 
Done this the hue upon her cheek was not 
Of this world ; and her lips a moment quivered 
As to speak the while, her eyes, like one in sleep 
Closed down forever, and a spirit then 
As pure as heaven took its flight above. 



262 EARLY VANITIES. 

And Oh, an aching void was left; but now 

Six days have passed and I have lived again 

With this sweet child; last night I grieved for her 

Metho't death was unkind in taking my 

Dear one from me, but ere the break of day 

I fell into a kind of sleep, and, Oh, 

"What a sweet kind: for came my darling child, 

My little Alma, and, as she had done 

In life, placed her sweet arms about my neck 

And interlaced her fingers; then she lisped 

Within my ears and told me not to cry. 

I stooped tc kiss the little lips as I 

Had done so oft before ; but, Oh, they were 

So cold, I cried aloud, and my sweet child was gone. 

Gone, gone, gone, into the heavens above us: 
Gone, to the home not made of hands on high; 

Gone the sweet spirit that will ever love us, 
And await our coming by and by — 

Gone, gone, gone, the little birds arc peeping, 
Peeping for the hand that gave them care — 

Waiting, waiting, waiting ; waiting while we're weep- 
ing, 
Weeping while we're waiting to go There. 

" Done, done, done'' — her little sister's sighing — 
"Done to sleep, papa, neber more to wake; 

I tan not do wi'out her." — Then she went to crying, 
Crying like her little heart would break. 



EARLY VANITIES. 2G3 



ODE TO MY LYRE. 



COME, come, my Lyre, and let us go 
Down to the clear and glowing stream, 
Whose laughing waters ebb and flow 
Along where water-lilies grow ; 
Come thou and help me dream. 

2. 

Oh, thou, my Lyre, my gentle toy! 

I swept thy chords down in this vale 
When but a wayward, reckless boy, 
And thou didst all my soul employ 

In fields and flowery dale. 

3. 

And yet, my Lyre, my humble song 

May tremble into silence when 
I lay thee down among the throng 
Of those whose echoes still prolong 
The praise of worthier men. 

4. 

But now, my Lyre, my friend so dear, 
E'en tho' I am unworthy, still 

When lonely e'er I call thee near, 

And if unworthy drop the tear 
That sets my heart a-thrill. 



264 EARLY VANITIES. 

5. 

Oh Lyre ! with thee I loved the place 
Where my poor father's cottage stood, 
* Surrounded by the humble grace 

Of trees and vines in interlace, 
Inspiring solitude. 

6. 

And there, my Lyre, in early days 

I roved the hills and forests drear, 
Sang of the dusk and milky haze — 
Of sallow leaves in Autumn days — 
The bleakest of the year. 

7. 
And thus, my Lyre, the early train 

Of my poor Muse was set aglow, 
The miller's daughter heard my strain, 
And praised its tones, and then the vein 

Of poesy did flow. 

8. 
And yet, my Lyre, submissive toy, 

Vibrated to a youthful heart * 
That beat the tender pulse of joy 
Within the breast of th' dreaming boy, 

And Cupid aimed his dart. 

9. 

And there, my Lyre, the feathered throng, 

Sang hymns of love to us alone. 
We listen'd to their chorus'd song 
Above us, as they'd float along, 
And by love's heavenly throne. 



EARLY VANITIES. 265 

10. 

And there, my Lyre, in that sweet place, 

Beneath the radiant mistletoe, 
O'er shadowing the fair sward of grace 
Was our dear early trysting-place, 

Where songs of love did flow. 

11. 

And there with thee, my gentle Lyre, 

The young heart in my breast did swell, 
And worlds of beauty rose entire 
Around ; and 'gainst love's kindling fire. 
Two hearts could not rebel. 

12. 

And thou, fond Lyre, still day by day 

The love within my breast increased, 
And from my eyes chased sleep away 
And made them watchers of their prey 
On which they could but feast. 

13. 

But then, alas! dear Lyre, alone, 

Sweet sleep would close my wakeful eyes, 
And Morpheus, the night-god drone, 
Would steal about my downy zone, 
And show love in disguise. 

14. 

Thou, Lyre, companion of my soul, 

Called the fair love-dream down from heaven, 
Took my young heart from my control, 
And to another to condole, 

By thee and Allah given. 



2GG EARLY VANITIES. 

15. 

That love-cup, Lyre, lias been my life, 

Inspired so near the turning mill, 
The miller's daughter 'came my wife, 
And strewed my way with pleasures rife 
And I am happy still. 

16. 
And yet, O Lyre ! I've swept thy strings, 

Ofttimes since thou inspired'st my mind 
For thee, and when my sweet muse sings 
Hope fans me with her snowy wings 

When all the world's unkind. 

17. 

And Lyre, with thee I steal away 

And hold communion with the hills, 
Talk with the rocks so cold and gray, 
And strike thee, Lj T re, in roundelay, 
With hymns sung by the rills. 

18. 
And, Lyre, when the fair day-god lies 

Beneath the horizontal rest, 
And streaks with fire the vaulted skies; 
Thou sometimes pour'st forth melodies 

That sooth an aching breast. 

19. 

And, Lyre, as one who hides to pray 

Where sweet oblivion reigns sublime, 
And pale-faced Luna pours her ray 
And rides majestic on her way, 
I pour my soul in rhyme. 



EARLY VANITIES. 267 

20. 

But then, alas ! dear Lyre, ere long 
Our parting hour shall surely come, 

And thy sweet tones shall not prolong 

The notes of my unchorused song 
When both lie still and dumb. 

21. 

Farewell, dear Lyre ! — farewell ! farewell ! 

Thou sole companion of my soul. 
I lay thee down, but still we dwell 
T n sweet communion. It is well 

We see our transient goal. 



SPIRITS OF THE STORM. 



ROLL, thunders, roll! 
On the cold mist of the night, 
As I watch the streaming light, 
Lurid, blinking in the south, 
Like a mighty serpent's mouth 

Spitting fire. 
Peal on peal, the thunder's crashing, 
And the streaming lightning's flashing, 
Like great giants coming o'er us, 
Dancing to the distant chorus, 

In their ire, 

Sowing fire, 
From the wild sky higher, higher, 
While the heaving angry motion, 
Of a great aerial Ocean, 



268 EARLY VANITIES. 

Dashes cloud-built ships asunder, 
As the distant coming thunder 

Rolls, rolls, rolls, 
And shakes the great earth to the poles. 



Roll, thunders, roll ! 
You awake my sleeping soul, 
To see the war in rage before me, 
And its dreadful menace o'er me, 
Lightning, 

Brightening, 

Flashing, 

Dashing; 
Thunders booming in the distance, 
Till the earth seems in resistance 
To the navies sailing higher, 
O'er the wild clouds dropping fire ; 
And there he comes ! the wing'd horse comes, 

Beneath great Jove whose mighty arms 
Hurl thunder-bolts, and heaven drums 

Her awful roll of sad alarms : 
He stamps the clouds, and onward prances, 
As from him the wild lightning glances ; 

By his neigh the world is shaken, 
And his hoof so fleetly dances 
That the lightning's overtaken, 
And he feeds upon its blazing 
Shafts, as if he were but grazing ; 
Stops, paws the clouds beneath his form, 
Then gallops o'er the raging storm; 



EARLY VANITIES. 269 

Flies on! his long disheveled mane, 
Streams wildly through the leaden plane 

Of the dull skies, 
The while the drapery of the clouds, 
Wraps this spirit as in shrouds, 

Our darting eyes 

In vague surprise 

Arise, 
And trace the wandering course 
Of heaven's fleet-foot winged horse! 

Roll, thunders, roll! 
As lightnings in the arching scroll, 
Streak the heavens in their flight 
By their dazzling flow of light ; 
Whiie old Neptune, all alone, 
Is sitting on his mountain throne, 

O'er the sea, 

In a mood so lonely, he 
Thrusts his trident by his side, 

With such force that the great mountain 
Opens a deep cavern wide, 

And bursts forth a living fountain 
Sparkling with its silvery tide; 
And the Nereids, fifty strong, 
To the water's babbling song. 

Like fairy wands 

From Neptune's hands 
Sally from this cavern wide, 
Sailing o'er the gray cold rocks, 
With their fairy rainbow locks, 
Down upon the water's brim, 
Either way the surface skim, 



270 EARLY VANITIES. 

Till their taper d fingers' tips 
Gently in the water dips ; 
Then beneath the raging skies 
Neptune in his chariot flies 

O'er the sea, 
With his trident in his hand, 
In a bearing of command, 
Fitting to his majesty, 

He calls to his daughters 

To quit the wild waters, — 
He calls but they heed not his word: 

Then his trident he hurls 

At his sea-nymph girls, 
But the truants — they flee from their lord. 
Unto the clouds they go 

In the whirlwinds of the storm, 

Aretliusa leads the way 
AVheresoe'er the winds may blow. 
She lithely moves her graceful form 

As if she would herself survey, . 
And then she rides the southern wind 

And bids her sisters follow, 
And leave old Neptune far behind, 
Lord of his mountain hollow, — 

To nurse his wrath 

And tread his path, 
And curse his fairy daughters, — 

These mountain elves 

That freed themselves 
From the lord of ocean's waters. 
He grasped a trident in his hand 
That mystic rose at his command, 



EARLY VANITIES. 271 

And wildly blew till the great ocean 

Trembled like an aspen-tree, 
And winds that were in wild commotion, 

Whirling through immensity, 
He'd by his magic art control 
And gather in a secret scroll 
And hurl them at his Dorian daughters 
O'er the heaving angry waters, 
Till the growling thunders roll, 
Giving spleen to Neptune's soul 
As he sees them dart through air, 
Daughters fifty, all so fair, 

Free from the Ionian Sea, 

Designed to be 

Their destiny. 

Roll, thunders, roll! 
Till the many church-bells toll 

Once in unity, 
Touched by the enchanting wand 

Of his majesty, 
Who's arbiter of sea and land, 

And marks each destiny. 
But there! 

The fair-faced nymphs of air, 
Metamorphosed from the Dorian sea, 

O'er the waters, 

Lovely daughters, 
Through the misty clouds they flee, 

Their fairy forms 

Float o'er the storms 
So swift and magic'ly 



272 EARLY VANITIES. 

That on the wings of the long streaming 
flashes 

They ride, and they dance their delight, 
Wear crowns of electrical dashes, 

And bask in their dazzling light. 

Where the deep-voiced thunder peals louder, 

And the long sheeted lightnings play fast, 
We see them peep through the dark cloud, or 

Kide off on a sulphurous blast. 
W T hen the storm to its fullness is raging, 

And all Nature at war seems to be, 
The cloud-sphere is then more engaging 

To them than a wild breaking sea. 

But now the growling, rolling, grumbling, 
Thunders in the distance mumbling, 
Fainter, fainter, dying, dying, 
And the lightning dimmer flying, 
O'er the dark cloud westward lying, 
As the morning in her glory 
Bursts forth like an ancient story, — 
The while the resting sunbeams light 
On this dark cloud of the night, 
And the arching rainbow's given 
To the spirit-forms of heaven, 

In a moment unrolled 

In its pinions of gold, 

And quick as its birth 

It o'ercircles the earth: 
And there the spirits of the storms 
Sit and rest their weary forms. 



